


Decrepitude (Don't Go)

by themunchking



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Non-Linear Narrative, Witcher AU, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: “I didn’t choose them,” Kyungsoo replies with a touch of bitterness. The scars from the transformation do not heal. Inside, and out. “Why did you choose white?”“Do you know what I asked for?” Jongin asks.Jongin lies as easily as breathing.He grins, all teeth, when Kyungsoo gives him the attention he seeks. “I asked to be unforgettable.”
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai, Minor Oh Sehun/Park Chanyeol - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 97
Collections: EXO MONSTERFEST 2020





	Decrepitude (Don't Go)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Witcher!AU, a mix of (primarily) the game and Netflix show world. Previous knowledge of canon isn't necessary, as events/characters of the game/show do not appear. However, readers may find they will enjoy some previous knowledge of the universe. I enjoyed Henry Cavill's sexy arms, but if that's not your cup of tea, Joseph Anderson's videos on the first two games series were very helpful in worldbuilding. 
> 
> Thanks to the mods for running this fest once again!

“What do we have here?” 

Kyungsoo can barely see—the pain coursing through his veins takes up all parts of his cognition, each one of his twisted, mutant cells pointed towards the epicenter in his abdomen and the poison now racing through his blood. First the bitch had poisoned him, and then she’d stabbed him. For good measure, just to be well and truly sure. 

Not that he could blame her—bringing down a witcher takes a lot. 

Kyungsoo can barely see, but the haze at his peripherals doesn’t do much to soften the shock of white hair hovering above him. The expression of the person the hair belongs to is harder to place. Intrigue, perhaps? Confusion, even a touch of delight. 

Heavens above, Kyungsoo wished dying was faster. Every time. The thing just goes on for too damn long. 

“What a curious thing to say, witcher,” the white hair says. “But I’m afraid your wish won’t be granted once again. No one dies from a juvenile poison on my watch.”

This is how Kyungsoo comes to know the sorcerer Jongin. 

  


-

  


The universe has laws. Magic does, witchers do, men do. 

Destiny does not fit neatly inside those parameters. It’s messy, and for this reason Kyungsoo finds it distasteful. 

In the windswept keep of Kaer Seren, Minseok insisted everything be kept neat and polished—which meant after long days of training, Kyungsoo and his other monster-hunters-in-training returned to the inner halls just to scrub the walls free of ocean salt. It’s one of his only memories from before the mutation: the feeling of his hands rubbed raw and stinging, standing by the open window with the smell of the sea and cries of gulls on the air. 

Minseok was not an elder in the traditional sense. He was older, much older, than the lot of them despite his youthful appearance, his mutated cells unyielding in the face of time. But no witcher lived long enough to truly be called __old.__ It’s not a life known for longevity. 

But because it was Minseok who’s eyes were the first to greet Kyungsoo when he awoke reborn, new, after the trials, he thought there was no one better to model himself after. 

Every witcher learns the rules of the world. Their survival depends on it, on learning the right components to potions and the equations of alchemy. They study curses, and learn how to break them; study monster-afflicted maladies and how to cure them. 

That was the knowledge Kyungsoo devoured the fastest. There was even an orderliness to how it was all presented, in neat books copied and re-copied by the generations that came before him. 

But there are messy things, too, that a witcher must learn. How to kill a man with your fists and wits alone. The binding of an oath. Destiny. Love. 

There was always a distant look in Minseok’s eyes when he talked about those things. As if he were far, far away for Kaer Seren and the sea. 

For Kyungsoo’s part, he always would have rather spent time wacking bruises into Taemin’s skin than hear about something as troublesome as __destiny.__

Those days come up frequently in his thoughts, even now, when Kyungsoo has grown far from that small, lost child with red-raw hands. He’s still welcome in the winters, of course, but a strangeness has set in. There are new tiny children around, though the numbers are far less than what he knew. They’ll be lucky if one new witcher joins the ranks of the School of Griffin. 

Minseok always welcomes him with a graciousness and manners many people think beyond witchers, but he also did not seem so surprised when the last two winters Kyungsoo cut his visits short and struck out alone, heading south by sea passage at the first word of ice melt. 

For many years, Kaer Seren was the only home Kyungsoo ever knew. These days, he’s become much more familiar with other locations. 

Jongin prefers warmer places. Spots of the continent where the winters are easier to bear. 

The sorcerer has a habit of finding Kyungsoo wherever he is, or drawing Kyungsoo to him. They weave circles around each other, and that’s how it’s always been since the day Jongin dragged Kyungsoo out of a swamp. 

It feels like more than just luck—a slippery concept in itself. 

It almost feels like—

__

__Destiny.__ He keeps those words sealed behind his lips. He doesn’t know if Jongin believes in things like that, anyways. 

Well. Kyungsoo can’t say he minds the frequent run-ins. Certainly not on days like this, when Kyungsoo wakes up in a comfortable inn bed somewhere on the Temerian side of the border with Jongin’s mouth around his cock. 

He doesn’t even utter a good morning, just groans with a bone-deep pleasure. Jongin looks like sin itself, laying flat on his stomach in the open v of Kyungsoo’s legs, the early-spring quilts thrown to the side. The sight of him could summon monsters to the spot. 

Kyungsoo bucks his hips up when Jongin swallows down around him. He knows Jongin can take it, is well aware of how much Jongin likes it this way. He’s not the first person Kyungsoo has slept with who wants to be manhandled by a witcher, but he is the first person who can keep up. 

He cups one hand around Jongin’s jaw, fingers sliding through the spit bubbling down his chin. The other he places at the nape of Jongin’s neck, gripping tightly at the hair there. It’s the same way it always is—that same shock of white Kyungsoo first woke up to, tousled in a way that is both messy and artful. 

Jongin always knows how to make it perfect for him. He woke up right on the edge to begin with. “How long were you down there?” Kyungsoo asks without expecting an answer, his voice rumbling from his chest, but teasing around the edges. “Did you lay there with my soft cock in your mouth, teasing me until I woke?” 

As expected, Jongin doesn’t move to reply, but does sink further down Kyungsoo’s cock until his nose brushes the curls of hair there. He can surely sense that Kyungsoo is close—again, that connection—because his hands scramble to entwine theirs together against the mattress. The tenderness they both crave. 

“Fuck, your mouth, your throat. It’s perfect, it’s—” Kyungsoo spills down his throat, Jongin swallowing every drop. 

While Jongin is washing himself he makes Kyungsoo get them something to eat. It’s the early, early hours of the morning when only the birds and hard-working farmers are awake. Kyungsoo finds one of the hands of the inn making bread, and convinces the poor lad to bring them up something. The gleaming silver medallion bearing a carved Griffin that lays against Kyungsoo’s chest may or may not be the motivating factor. 

Jongin has odd sleeping habits—sometimes he sleeps through the morning well into midday, and other times he is up before even Kyungsoo, like he hasn’t slept at all. It’s the kind of chaotic conduct Minseok would find infuriating. 

But Kyungsoo knows why Jongin was awake today. It’s the nightmares. It always is. 

Once they have their food, Jongin drapes himself across Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo allows it. He also allows Jongin to feed him delicate fruits, the juices spilling down his fingers and trailing temptingly down his arm. 

“Now won’t you feed me?” Jongin pouts. To indulge him, Kyungsoo tears pieces of the hearty bread dressed with the smooth goat butter the locals labor over. 

Surely it would shock the other inn patrons into their graves if they were to see Kyungsoo like this. To see that someone, even a mage, could get so far under a witcher’s skin. As much as Jongin has adapted to appreciate small gestures, that would bring him more pleasure than anything, for everyone to know a great witcher of the north allows him, and __only__ him, past his walls. 

“What was today’s about?” Kyungsoo murmurs. It’s barely there—hardly noticeable at all—but Jongin stiffens the slightest amount in his hold. In a split second he’s relaxed again. 

“It was a daze,” Jongin shrugs. “A flurry of—wings. Dark wings, like crows. But you know I don’t remember them.” 

Yes, Kyungsoo does know this, because it’s what Jongin’s told him. He doesn’t know if it’s true, and in fact suspects Jongin remembers a great deal more from these nightmares than he lets on. But it’s not Kyungsoo’s place to pry; and if it’s not his, then it’s no one’s. 

“I need to pay another visit to the medic today.” Despite his words implying some sort of timeline, Jongin stretches and further slides into Kyungsoo’s lap, until his weight is distributed across the witcher’s lap and his head rests on his shoulder. It’s the perfect opportunity for Jongin to kiss softly at Kyungsoo’s neck, an opportunity that does not go wasted.

“Yes,” Jongin yawns, the whole affair already boring him. “The hunt. Can’t we skip it?”

“I’ve already taken an upfront fee.” 

“We could still skip out. It’s not like we’ll ever need to return to this dusty little town.” 

Kyungsoo snorts. They both know he’ll do no such thing.

Jongin does not like to play by the rules—not Kyungsoo’s, and not the order he surely belongs to, though again, never speaks of. That’s the thing about rules, however. They exist whether one __wants__ to follow them or not. 

Because of this, their time together isn’t infinite. Jongin comes and goes, is sometimes called away by a raven with red eyes, sometimes leaves in the morning with no more than a lingering goodbye kiss and an “until next time, witcher.” Presumably, he has Court duties he needs to attend to. He’ll then show up a full moon cycle later, having found Kyungsoo without ever really seeking him out. 

It doesn’t bother Kyungsoo—or, he tries not to let it bother him. Jongin is already more than he deserves. 

Still. He likes that in this conversation, it’s __we.__ There lies the steady implication that for the time being, where Kyungsoo goes, Jongin does, too. 

“It’s just some ghouls,” Kyungsoo tries to mollify. “A fever ripped through the next town down the river. Those who survived didn’t stick around to take proper care of their dead.”

Jongin wrinkles his nose. “So we’re walking into a plague-infested graveyard. Lovely. Witchers have the strangest sense of romance.” 

“Oh?” Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth raises involuntarily, but Jongin’s turns up to match it. “I wasn’t under the impression this was a romantic outing.” 

“It could be.” Jongin winds in hand in Kyungsoo's loose tunic, carelessly untied to tease the curve of his pec. Kyungsoo resists the pull on purpose just for the simple joy of seeing Jongin’s pout. “Don’t be cruel when I’m here looking so pretty for you. Kiss me.” 

Kyungsoo runs his thumb across Jongin’s lower lip. The slightest amount of pressure and those plump lips give way. “The ghouls, Jongin. Today.” 

“Ugh,” Jongin sighs heavily. It’s not necessary to watch Jongin to know what’s happening—he hoists himself from Kyungsoo’s lap and makes a deliberate amount of noise while the witcher’s meal continues. If Kyungsoo glances at him, he wins. 

Kyungsoo is very practiced at this game. 

“It’s just some __necrophages,”__ Jongin complains after the silence stretches on and on. “Ruining a perfectly good day in bed with you fucking me for something so mundane. It’s disrespectful to my body.” 

“You have a beautiful body,” Kyungsoo agrees. 

“Yes,” Jongin whispers, suddenly in Kyungsoo’s ear again. He crosses his arms over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, leans down low to whisper low in his ear. “Do you know what I asked for during my ceremony? I told the mage I wanted to be so beautiful no artist would ever be able to properly depict me—and that anyone who tried would go mad for the attempt.” 

“Foolish of them.” The fleeting ghost of a kiss brushes against the corner of Kyungsoo’s lips, but when he goes to chase it Jongin has slipped away into the background again. “If you weren’t interested in the hunt, then why did you even bother coming?” 

It’s too careless of a thing to say. Kyungsoo regrets it immediately, but there are no spells in existence that allows you to take back words after they’ve already been said. Jongin’s purposeful noises go eerily quiet. Kyungsoo goes to turn, to swallow his tongue and his pride, but the mage is already there at his side. 

He bends down and kisses Kyungsoo solidly, a kiss with no room for debate. Relief floods Kyungsoo’s veins. Jongin has a vindictive streak in him longer than from Kaedwen to Cintra. “You’re better company than anyone else on the continent, disgusting corpses or no.”

Jongin pulls away with another chaste peck. The brief storm has passed without any lightning. 

“Ghouls. Corpse eaters. Risking my life for this,” he grumbles. Now, he’s complaining just to complain. A human fever is no threat to either of them. 

“I just remembered,” Kyungsoo mentions casually through a final bite of bread. The goat butter truly is as delicious as the locals say it is. Jongin makes no noise to indicate he’s paying attention, but he doesn’t need to. “The medic mentioned that a witch used to reside in the town until the disgruntled residents threw them out. The fever started shortly thereafter.”

Kyungsoo can practically feel Jongin’s spike in interest. “A curse?” Jongin suggests, voice suddenly two octaves higher. By the time Kyungsoo turns around, Jongin is already lacing the front of his vest. “Well witcher? What are we waiting for? There’s a curse to sniff out.” 

  


There’s a pack of eight ghouls to fight through to get them to the witch’s workshop. Broadly, Jongin stands an appropriate distance away and does nothing but cheer Kyungsoo on while the witcher does all of the heavy lifting. Heavy sword-swinging. 

It’s not that Jongin isn’t capable—if need be, he’d jump in with his spells at the ready. It’s that Kyungsoo is more than capable of rooting out an infestation of ghouls himself, which is why this entire experience for Jongin is more of a fun trip than anything else. 

The ghouls are annoying in their numbers, but their tactics are predictable. They’re lured out of their hiding places at dusk to a corpse Kyungsoo has left out to attract them. There are still members of the village who have yet to be devoured by them. He takes out three with a small bomb of sulfur and saltpeter, and after that, it’s a simple business of separating them one by one and running them through with his sword doused with necrophage oil. 

“They’re gone,” he calls, stripping his silver sword of their dark blood. Jongin trots down from the hill he was watching from. He frowns at the ghoul corpse at Kyungsoo’s feet in distaste, eyeing the grotesque bulge of their hips and protruding jaws. 

“They’re so... ugly. Like ugly corpses come to life.” Yes, look at the things from a certain angle and they did resemble something of a human, like a bad children’s drawing distorted by a nightmare. 

“Some people think they are,” Kyungsoo notes. Together they head towards the cabin the medic identified as belonging to the area’s former witch, Jongin taking particular care to side-step any stray body parts. 

“Do __you__ say they are?” 

“Monsters, through and through. Large scavengers like racoons, almost, mostly found in graveyards.” 

“Hmmm,” Jongin hums thoughtfully, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “For what? The next time you’re going gravedigging? Do you frequently desecrate corpses without me knowing?” 

Jongin brushes up against him with purpose. “I do a great many things without you knowing.” He’s teasing, but there’s more than just a grain of truth to the statement, Before the mood can change, Jongin is skipping away. “Come, you promised me a curse!” 

“I promised you nothing.” 

“Fair. You as __good__ as promised me a curse. Let’s find out what this witch was up to.” 

It’s inside the workshop that the outing becomes significantly more dangerous. Any witch capable of cursing an entire village to a plague is one worth respecting. 

“Darling, try not to knock anything over with those swords of yours,” Jongin tells him. The witch’s workshop is crowded—these instructions leave Kyungsoo to linger by the doorway while Jongin wades further inside. 

The cottage is only two rooms, but with all the things crammed insides—crates of ingredients, heavy spools of yarn, hanging dried animal carcasses with flies buzzing around—Jongin darts in and out of vision. 

“Well?” He calls. His fingers stroke across the medallion laying against his chest—no danger, not yet. 

“I’ve only been looking for five minutes!”

From where he stands Kyungsoo attempts to search out any clues. So far, this looks like the cottage of any witch with hoarder tendencies. That is, from his experience, most of them.

He catches a glance of something from the corner of his eye—something scratched into the doorway. Before they entered Jongin sent a spell out through the door of his own, one to nullify any weak traps that might have been set up, not an unusual practice. These runes might have been part of such a set up, but Kyungsoo traces them without fully understanding their purposes, until his gaze is taken all the way up.

Above the door frame there’s carved a symbol, larger and deeper than the rest. A hexagon with an X through the center, and a small line on the left side. It nags at Kyungsoo’s memory as familiar, but it refuses to be placed in context. 

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo calls. “Something interesting. A symbol.” 

“What kind of symbol?” Comes Jongin’s voice. 

“An array, perhaps?”

“Could be, I’ll come look in a moment—”

Kyungsoo medallion jumps to life against his chest the moment before Jongin shouts out an “Oh, fuck.” He doesn’t think before launching himself forward towards wherever he last heard Jongin’s voice. He crashes through some crates and sends a bookshelf toppling over in his haste, but the possessions of a long-gone witch are nothing to him. 

Jongin leaps through the single doorway in the house with a cry of warning, seemingly just as desperate to get to Kyungsoo as the witcher is to get to him. They collide somewhere in the middle with Jongin’s arms wrapped securely around his shoulders, and Kyungsoo turns him, to shield him from any threat—

Then the explosion hits. 

Kyungsoo forces his eyes open. There’s no time for his body to be frozen in fear or to let any bodily harm stop him. This is, by all intents and purposes, what witchers are made for. He needs to assess damages, be ready to fight if he needs to, check if Jongin is okay—

Beneath him on the ground, Jongin’s chest heaves, but the up and down of his chest is proof that he’s still alive. Fear is an unusual expression on him, but it’s what Kyungsoo is reading in his eyes. Surrounding them is a heavy blue glow—a defense barrier. When Jongin unfurls his clenched fist, it shimmers out of existence. 

Around them, the witch’s cottage is completely destroyed. All that remains is the carnage of the explosion and the smell of burnt straw. Kyungsoo is still carefully tracking the damage for any sign of movement when he feels Jongin’s fingers brush lightly against his cheek. 

“I would be awfully upset if even a hair on your head was hurt,” he says softly. “Well. You don’t exactly __have__ hair, but you understand my meaning.” 

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoor reassures, “because of you, I’m fine. What was it?” 

“Booby-trap,” the sorcerer answers. “In the bedroom when I opened the door. I should have been more careful, but I—”

“You were distracted. By me.” 

“Don’t make it sound like __that,”__ Jongin frowns. “It wasn’t your fault at all. Who’s the magic expert here? I should’ve been able to sniff out such an obvious trap blindfolded.” 

It’s true.

It would be nice to say that Jongin is wrong, that no harm was done. But plenty of harm __could’ve__ been done, and it’s not in Kyungsoo’s nature to brush off the seriousness of something for the sake of someone’s feelings. Even Jongin’s. 

Dying is a very, very easy thing. 

“Simple and effective.” Jongin gestures at the destruction around them. “And our witch friend buried it deep enough inside to ensure maximum casualties in case an angry mob of pitchfork-wielding villagers stormed the place. No sign of a curse, but I can’t say I didn’t have fun,” he grins.

The sorcerer may hide a great deal from Kyungsoo, but his emotions he wears on his sleeve. Although he may sound cavalier at their near-death experience, his shaky grin is hiding a pulse of anxiety and guilt. Kyungsoo kisses him. It doesn’t change anything, but perhaps it will make Jongin feel a small amount better. 

Jongin leans into the kiss immediately. His body betrays how badly he craves this piece of physical comfort. No sorcerer (or witcher, or soldier) would ever admit to this kind of vulnerability; Kyungsoo doesn’t ask him to. It’s okay for things to go unsaid. 

It also feels very fitting of them to be locked in such a passionate kiss in the middle of a destroyed house. Jongin’s always had a strange idea of romance—Kyungsoo has no idea of romance at all. 

“Oh, the array,” Kyungsoo remembers. 

“What did it look like?” Jongin’s hand curls around the inside of the witcher’s elbow, like he’s reluctant to let go of Kyungsoo so soon, even if it impedes him being able to scrawl a diagram of the array in the dirt beside them. 

“Like this, with a line here—” 

Kyungsoo is cast off to the side when Jongin hauls himself to his feet without warning. At first he thinks it’s more danger—another spell, more ghouls—but Jongin doesn’t fly into action but instead rubs away the array furiously with his foot. He continues long past there being any evidence something was once written there. 

“Not an array,” Jongin grounds out eventually. Asking is unnecessary—the obvious question already hangs in the air. It’s not an array, but it’s also clear that Jongin __does__ know what the symbol is. “It’s—” Jongin cuts himself short. He avoids Kyungsoo’s eyes. From his body language, Kyungsoo is surprised the mage hasn’t already summoned a portal and fled the scene; it looks like that’s what he wants to do most of all. 

“If it’s not about any curse on the village, then don’t tell me.” 

For a quiet moment, Jongin does nothing but give him a strange, gentle look. The sigh he gives seems to come from his bones. 

“Oh, Kyungsoo, you’re too nice to me. It’s a good thing no one else sees you like this. Otherwise your reputation as a big bad witcher would be at stake.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what the people think about me.” 

“And isn’t that wonderful?” Jongin sits down heavily on a collapsed beam. “That symbol... it’s bad news. It has no magical properties in itself, but is the sign of a dangerous group of mages.” 

“What would a common witch have to do with them?” Witches and formally trained mages prefer to have nothing to do with each other. Mages look down on the low-brow kind of magic witches practice, and in turn witches sneer at the elitism. 

“I...” Jongin worries at his lip. “They likely didn’t have any formal association, but they’ve come to represent a larger philosophy about—well, about balance and chaos. Let’s leave it at that.” 

The silence that grows between them isn’t uncomfortable. Jongin needs the breathing room. Kyungsoo doesn’t pry; the business of a witcher is monsters, not magic, and certainly not politics. 

“This witch sounds like a bastard,” Kyungsoo says dryly. It makes Jongin laugh, at least, thankfully loud and genuine. 

“I bet they are. I hope they were eaten by a koshchey for all the trouble they’ve given us today.” Jongin extends a hand and Kyungsoo grips it in his, hoisting Jongin to his feet. “I do believe this hard day’s work deserves a long bath, don’t you?” 

“Mn.” The image of Jongin’s bronze skin glistening with drops of water sounds tantalizing indeed. 

  


-

  


“I recall refusing to take care of your problems.” Like all witchers, when Kyungsoo woke, it was all at once, an abrupt departure from the land of dreams to cold reality. And this morning, when Kyungsoo charged into wakefulness, he found that damned sorcerer sitting across the small clearing, perched on a fallen log, staring at him. No, not strange or creepy at all. 

This clearing is a nowhere place, in a stretch of nowhere between nowhere villages. Likely not even the people who live in these places care what they’re called or about more history than the weather patterns and when the river floods. It looks just like any other clearing in any other part of the countryside. It’s the perfect kind of place for a meeting with a stranger. 

“What makes you think I came because of that? I took care of everything myself, no thanks to you,” the sorcerer sniffs. His name, of course, is Jongin, but Kyungsoo is still peeved from when he thought he’d left him and his problems behind for good, so he’s determined not to acknowledge him properly, even in his head. 

Minseok is in his thoughts, telling him he keeps grudges for far too long, and would he __please__ forgive the fishmonger in the port for calling him too short to be a real witcher? 

“What else could you have possibly tracked me down for?” He rises, and begins setting up a fire. Perhaps if he pretends the sorcerer isn’t here he’ll go away. Unfortunately, this plan must be too obvious, because the mage asserts his presence immediately by bringing the fire to life with a snap of his fingers. 

Kyungsoo does not thank him. 

He also tries not to think of him as he was in his room in the castle in Beauclair, spread out on the sheets with the warm afternoon air coming in through the open window. Everything there was sickly sweet as ambrosia, including the taste of the sorcerer’s skin. 

“I brought you some wine,” the sorcerer says, drifting closer to Kyungsoo. In a way the bravery is admirable—there aren’t many who would approach a witcher like this. 

“For breakfast?” 

The sorcerer chortles. “If you’d like. I’m none to judge.” 

“Something tells me that’s not true.” Kyungsoo accepts the wine regardless. He’d be stupid to not take Toussaint wine when offered freely. “Isn’t gossiping a daily pastime in Beauclair?” 

It’s meant to be a dig, to annoy the sorcerer into leaving him __alone,__ but he keeps up with the banter like what Kyungsoo just said was a light joke instead of an insult. “See, you learned something,” he says happily. 

“You can’t have any of my sausage,” Kyungsoo sighs, resigned that for the moment he’s apparently stuck with this mage. 

“I already ate, thank you.” 

“Did it sound like I was offering you any?” Kyungsoo says gruffly. When his food is finished and he sits down to eat, he makes the mistake of looking at the sorcerer again. 

He’s still just as breathtaking as a year ago, when he dragged Kyungsoo half-dead out of a swamp and brought him back to Toussaint, where he then proceeded to drag Kyungsoo into all of his problems. And most notably, into his bed. 

Witchers are what they are, but Kyungsoo is still a man. He still has needs. 

And it’s impossible to ignore how lovely this particular sorcerer is, from his round, heart-shaped lips, to the curve of his cheekbones. Even that shock of white hair is awe-inspiring in the true meaning of the word. 

He looks at Kyungsoo now, eyebrow curled upwards. “I don’t appreciate you looking at me like that,” Kyungsoo grumbles. 

“Like what?” The sorcerer purrs. 

“Don’t be so confident you have me all figured out.” 

“Oh, but don’t I? At the very least, I thought I did from those noises you were making—” 

“Do you find being intensely annoying pleasurable?” Kyungsoo snaps. He follows up with an angry bite of sausage. Clearly, the sorcerer is enjoying himself, and that means it’s going to be even more of a pain getting rid of him. “How did you track me down, anyways?” 

“A little birdie told me you were in the area,” he says, grin still in place “Quite literally, an actual bird.” 

New tactic—if Kyungsoo ignores him, he’ll have to go away eventually. Unfortunately, it appears that the sorcerer is content just watching the witcher eat his meal, even after he eventually runs out of things to say himself without Kyungsoo to banter with. 

But he makes no move to leave until, even as Kyungsoo packs up his humble camp in stony silence. Instead, he stands near Kyungoo’s horse, Pepper, and feeds her apples magicked from his sleeve. 

“Don’t get attached to him, Pepper,” Kyungsoo warns. The gray filly ignores him and continues munching away happily at the apples. “And you,” he aims at the sorcerer, “stop trying to change my horse’s loyalty.” 

“I’m not surprised she likes me better with how grumpy you are,” he replies. “I know you don’t hate me, you know. Witchers put on a good act, but—”

“Whatever it is you think you know about me, keep it to yourself,” he growls. “If you insist on following me around, the least you could do is remain quiet.” 

The next moment, a small velvet bag is hurtling towards Kyungsoo’s face. It’s far from an arrow in flight, so Kyungsoo catches it with ease. The pouch is heavy with coin, far more than what the bulk of Kyungsoo’s work fetches him. 

“All the money in the world couldn’t get me involved in your politics. I told you as much.” 

“A different job,” the sorcerer replies. “A proper monster hunt. Is that not what you do? Hunt monsters? Or have I gone and assumed all the wrong things again?” 

Kyungsoo weighs the bag in his hand. “This is a significant amount of gold.” 

“It’s a significant job.” 

“Fine. Name it.” 

Jongin—yes, fine, Jongin—runs a gentle hand down Pepper’s nose. “I need your help getting into an eleven ruin. I have on good word some elves hid a magical pendant there. I can handle that part, but who knows what kinds of things are hiding in those ruins. Hence my need for a witcher.” 

“And you chose me.” He may sound skeptical, but already Kyungsoo is sketching plans in his head. It’s a good job, and one vastly more interesting than the standard fair he goes from town to town fulfilling. And despite his protests, spending more time with Jongin is not—er, disagreeable. From a visual perspective only, of course.

“I’m not, ah, intimately acquainted with any other witchers.” 

“Likely because there aren’t many left,” Kyungsoo answers drly. It’s the first time Jongin has looked somewhat uncomfortable. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” he mutters. 

“Regardless,” Kyungsoo sighs. He hopes this isn’t going to be a headache. “I accept the job.” 

“Oh!” Jongin perks up. He really is beautiful when he smiles. And yes, Kyungsoo mentally kicks himself for thinking such a thing. “Really? Um, yes. Perfect. There’s a portal I can tap into, and we ought to stock up on Moon Dust, because there will likely be wraiths. What—ah, what else?”

Now this is amusing. “Is this your first hunt?” Jongin flushes and tries to shield his redening face behind Pepper’s head. “What, a century of practicing magic and you’ve never been on a hunt?” 

Jongin’s blush deepens, and so does his scowl. “You know, most sorcery is done in __castles,__ not crypts. I often feel like I spend more time solving personal problems than practicing magic. But that—this is all besides the point.” 

As Jongin becomes more and more flustered, Kyungsoo finds his own mood rising. And there’s something else stirring in him, too, something dangerously close to fondness, but fortunately he’s plenty practiced at repressing such feelings. 

Taking this job is seeming a better idea by the minute. 

  


It’s not surprising that Jongin slips into his tent the night before they enter the ruins. He’s quiet, but Kyungsoo’s hearing is better. Jongin knows that, though. He slinks over Kyungsoo’s body until they’re pressed fully together, their bodies touching all the way down. 

And Kyungsoo? Kyungsoo does nothing to stop it. 

“Did you miss me?” he whispers into Kyungoo’s ear. “Tell the truth now.” 

“You’re a brat,” he replies, and grips a fistful of Jongin’s pretty white hair. 

“And yet you can’t help but find me intriguing?” Jongin hums. It’s infuriating how __right__ he is. The sorcerer’s hands wander further and further down, and Kyungsoo’s joins it. 

Jongin whines prettily into the hollow of Kyungsoo’s neck as they jerk each other off, trousers pushed down just enough to make it work. “Your hands are so rough,” he moans, “so good.” And Jongin’s are soft and supple, as flawless as the rest of him. 

Kyungsoo grits his teeth when he comes. There’s a name fighting to get past his lips but he stubbornly holds it in, unlike Jongin, who chants Kyungsoo’s name like it’s an incantation. 

In the cover of darkness, Jongin allows himself to be desperate for Kyungsoo. In the daytime he’ll tease all he wants, but there’s a line he won’t cross until the sun goes down. __Right now,__ there’s a line. It’s the kind of attention that’s addicting, especially considering Jongin is the kind of beauty that attracts __kings,__ could even cause a war. 

It’s a kind of freedom. It’s a kind of prison, too. 

  


The ruins are, predictably, monster-infested. It amuses Kyungsoo to no end the way Jongin tries to huddle behind Kyungsoo at the first sight of movement, and also how he tries to make it not obvious. 

“Scared of the dark?” Kyungsoo laughs.

“I’ll light you on fire,” Jongin hisses in return. He yelps when some of the small rodent bones littering the ruin halls rattle. 

“Then you’d be stuck here,” Kyungsoo reminds him. “Without your amulet and someone to warm your bed.” 

Jongin has nothing to say to that. It twists Kyungsoo’s stomach in an uncertain way—Jongin doesn’t say he could just find __another__ bed fellow, which he easily could. Instead, he bites his tongue and they continue down the path carved by Kyungsoo’s silver sword.

“Just watch my back,” Kyungsoo says eventually. “Don’t let anything sneak up on us and I—I’ll protect you.” 

They follow the ruins deeper. “Do you know what you’re looking for?” Kyungsoo asks. It’s no worry—he has plenty of vigor drought left in his equipment. The sight-seeing is poor quality, though. The architecture of elves is quite beautiful, but this ruin is an old one, dark and damp with thick lichen growing on the walls. Jongin lights torches as they go. 

“Yes,” Jongin answers immediately. “It’s magic, I can feel it. We’re getting much closer.” 

“All right.” Sure enough, soon they find themselves heading down a long, torch-lined corridor with a large door at the end. They push through to find a large chamber on the other side, made even bigger by collapses in the walls and ceilings. 

The amulet rests on a dias in the center of a large pool that encompasses over half of the chamber. Somewhere high in the ceiling, a thread of light filters in from the world above. Jongin’s eyes spark when he sees it, but Kyungsoo snatches at his arm and holds him back. 

“Wait, it’s a trap,” he says, because it obviously is. The ruins themselves are one deterrent, and this is another. He wonders what this amulet is that someone would go through all the trouble. Kyungsoo pics up a piece of rubble and tosses it into the pool. “Get ready,” he tells Jongin. 

Sure enough, the smooth, glassy surface begins to bubble. The creature is a hideous, slimy thing of teeth and tentacles. 

“Holy fuck,” Jongin swears. 

“Figures,” Kyungsoo grumbles. 

Jongin sends a sparking wave of lightning towards the creature. It shrieks and shrivels, but the strike alone isn’t enough to kill it. In retaliation, several of the tentacles send massive waves onto the shore, spraying water everywhere. 

“Shit,” Jongin clenches his fist. “Can’t go around using lightning if everything is wet.” 

Kyungsoo... is impressed. He figured Jongin was a terrified tourist, in over his head in the ruins with no appetite for battle. But now, with their lives truly on the line, Jongin is focused and serious, a side that is new to Kyungsoo. 

“We’ll have to do things the old fashioned way, then,” Kyungsoo says. He unclasps a vigor from his belt and downs the bottle. The potion takes effect almost immediately. 

Fighting in the water gives the creature the advantage, so they craft a quick plan to lure the beast closer. Every time one of the tentacles comes close, Jongin sparks it with a tiny bolt of lightning—not enough to fry them all, but enough to fill the air of the chamber with a burnt smell. Each time its attack fails, the creature slinks closer to them. 

“I need to start carrying a fucking bow,” Kyungsoo mutters to himself. He slices clean through one of the smaller tentacles.

“Kyungsoo!” Jongin yells in panicked warning, before one of the tentacles slams into Kyungsoo’s sides. The witcher finds himself pinned against the granite wall, bones groaning on impact. But with his arm still free, it gives him an opening to toss a crafted bomb towards the body of the creature. 

The bomb explodes in a brief shower of light and fury. The creature shrieks and shrinks back, submerging itself in the deepest shadows of the chamber. 

“Light!” an idea sparks in Kyungsoo’s mind. “It’s weak to the light.” 

Jongin nods. Between his palms he begins to gather a ball of concentrated light. Just as the creature emerges from the darkness again, Jongin shoots the light towards it. Not only does the light blind the creature, but it burns it, too. 

It’s the opportunity Kyungsoo needs to rush forward into the pool and plunge his sword into one of the creature’s several disgusting eyes. It erupts in a putrid green, but it does the job. Slowly, the creature’s corpse begins to sink into the pool. 

“Um. You smell foul,” Jongin tells him. Kyungsoo glares at him from where he stands waist deep in the pool, watching the sorcerer stand dry and safe on the shore. Fortunately, there’s water all around him to wash himself off. 

“Hurry up and get your prize before anything else comes out of this cursed pool,” he says as he wades forward.

Jongin practically sprints down the narrow path to the amulet, however, he stops just short of actually touching the thing. His hand hovers over it, caught in time and space, and then all at once his body moves to break the tension, and his hand closes over the amulet. 

The torches snuff out. Even the small bit of light from above isn’t enough to breach the impenetrable darkness. “Jongin?” Kyungsoo calls out immediately, but the sorcerer is already at his side and pushing him back towards where they came. 

“You can see those eyes from anywhere,” he tells Kyungsoo out in the passage, where the torches still blaze. 

“I didn’t choose them,” Kyungsoo replies with a touch of bitterness. The scars from the transformation do not heal. Inside, and out. “Why did you choose white?”

“Do you know what I asked for?” Jongin asks. 

Jongin lies as easily as breathing. 

He grins, all teeth, when Kyungsoo gives him the attention he seeks. “I asked to be unforgettable.” 

  


Every part of Kyungsoo’s body aches. Parts he didn’t __could__ ache, even. A lukewarm bath at a backwater inn has never sounded better; maybe Jongin can even heat the water for them. 

Like Minseok taught him, because he is that tired, he pushes his shoulders back, holds his head higher as they move through the midday streets. 

People turn and stare. First their eyes land on Jongin and his beacon of white hair, but they quickly pass to Kyungsoo, as if they can sniff out that there’s something __different__ about him. It also might be the gold eyes, the kind that glow even on a bright day, or the large silver griffin pendant sitting proudly on his chest. 

The streets are filled with peasants dressed in drab clothes, dark with mud from the fields. They part around them like cockroaches skittering away from the light. Everyone who lives in this town Kyungsoo can’t be bothered to learn the name of lives a hard life, and that kind of existence hard won from the forces of nature breeds the worst kind of superstition. 

This is not a friendly town for them. He would suggest they just keep moving, but Kyungsoo’s boot is wet with blood, and Jongin is letting Pepper lead him more than he’s leading the horse. 

Behind them the crows rejoin again, this time with the fleas of rumors jumping between their unwashed hair. 

They do not even make it to the tavern. 

Kyungsoo takes Pepper’s reins from Jongin, careful to watch the sorcerer in case he topples over suddenly without the support. 

“Move along,” a gruff voice says behind them.

Kyungsoo closes his eyes. Sighs once. “Is it against local law to tie up your horse outside the local tavern? What strange customs you have. We’ll go around back then.” 

Yes, Kyungsoo can be funny sometimes. He has it within him. 

“Go to some other town,” the same man says. “We don’t welcome your kind here.” 

“Short people?” 

The people in this town are apparently not known for their patience or sense of humor. Kyungsoo is too tired for his filter to be up, but his body is ready to dodge the blow he can sense is coming. This human isn’t worth fighting, but he clearly isn’t smart enough to think through the potential downsides to starting a fight with a mutant. 

No matter how many times this happens, no matter what town it is, the people are never very bright.

The electricity that cracks through the air is not a metaphor for the tension—it’s actually visible, because Jongin has snapped his fingers and made it so. He steps up past Kyungsoo’s shoulders and it’s deliberate as to what the sides are. 

“Hold your tongue or I will seal your lips together,” he spits. The man moves to speak, but Jongin cuts him off with the simple raise of his finger, poised to snap. “Any word and I will. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this witcher is the most dangerous one here.” 

__You don’t need to do this,__ Kyungsoo wants to tell him. By now, he’s used to it. He’ll save people like this from horrible, painful deaths again and again for nothing more than pocket change, but it doesn’t matter. It’s how it is. Jongin shouldn’t lower himself for this; if he chooses this battle, it’s one he’ll be fighting for as long as he associates himself with Kyungsoo. 

“Now,” Jongin says, voice as icy as his hair, “any other objections?” 

As expected, the small gathered crowd of townsfolk remain silent. 

Jongin gets them into a private room with warm food and a hotter bath in short order. Angry is his most efficient state. Kyungsoo allows him to do all this in silence, and it’s not until Jongin has stripped Kyungsoo of his grime and blood coated clothes and collapses on the bed does he speak. 

“Come now.” He attempts ‘tender,’ but his voice comes out more gruff than intended. Jongin looks back at him with hooded eyes, and yes, Kyungsoo is reminded that he’s standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his thin underclothes, and Jongin is sprawled out pliant before him. The heat that rushes to the base of his abdomen is unavoidable, but he chooses to ignore it. For now.

His hands weren’t made to be gentle. It doesn’t come easily to him, takes concentration in itself, but laying there so exhausted on the bed, he thinks that Jongin deserves at least this much. 

He unwraps Jongin piece by piece, until all of their clothes are laying together in a tangled pile on the floor. He nearly carries him to the bath, too. Jongin groans as soon as the warm water hits his skin. “You as well,” he insists, tugging at Kyungsoo’s wrist until he climbs in as well. Their limbs fold into the bath well enough. “Who knew a witcher could be funny.”

“Hm?” Kyungsoo cracks an eye open. Jongin is nearly entirely submerged in the water—everything under a small smile emerging from the dirt. 

“Your—ah—height comment.” 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Yes, well.” 

“Yes, he did deserve it. I should have burnt him to a crisp right there.” 

“It’s good that you didn’t.” Jongin’s foot draws a line up the outside of Kyungsoo’s thigh. “I—appreciate it—” that’s bothe an under and overstatement. There are few people alive who would defend Kyungsoo like that, and nearly all of them are other witchers. “—but I’m used to it.” 

Thankfully, Jonging’s smile only widens. His foot inches higher. “The humans are idiots. You’re brilliant. Really, truly brilliant.” 

“Is this all a ploy to get into my pants?” 

“Perhaps,” the sorcerer laughs. “But I already have them off. Is all the sweet-talk working?” 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo decides. He rocks forwards and pulls Jongin into a kiss. Meanwhile, half the water sloshes out of the basin. The innkeeper won’t find the will to complain tomorrow. 

They’re both too exhausted to do anything more than rut against each other like hasty youths, but it’s also an opportunity to release all of their tension, both from their dive into the ruin and their sexual tension before they ever stepped foot below ground. Jongin is always going to be beautiful when he tips his head back as he’s about to come. 

Kyungsoo is sure that tomorrow he’ll come back to his senses, and that he’ll miss the state of solitude he’s cultivated for so long; but for now, the feeling of a warm body against his, someone watching his back, is not so bad at all. 

  


Witchers wake when the birds do, at the first sign of morning light. He feels out of time—this moment could be at any inn, in any year. And yet it’s impossible for Kyungsoo to forget where he is, not with the persistent ache of his shoulder and the legs twined around his. He doesn’t recall allowing Jongin to fall asleep cuddled so close to him. It must have happened sometime in the night; though he’s a light sleeper, Kyungsoo can’t recall waking up. 

“Oomph,” the person-shaped mound says beside him. The strangest urge seizes Kyungsoo then—he wants to reach out, to run his fingers over the bare shoulder that peeks out from the covers. It looks warm; Jongin always seems warm. 

“Are we dead?” Jongin groans. “I feel like we’re dead.” 

“Unfortunately we have to bear the burden of existence a while longer,” Kyungsoo replies wryly. Jongin’s groan now is even longer than the first. 

“Well, perhaps we should do something that reminds us of how alive we are,” Jongin’s tone takes a suggestive lilt. He scoots closer across the bed, already narrow enough as it is. 

“Insatiable, aren’t we?” Kyungsoo says while his hand creeps low on Jongin’s abdomen on its own accord. 

“Mmmh,” Jongin hums. “When there’s something oh so desirable in front of me, I have trouble keeping my hands off it. My mouth, too.” 

Jongin rolls into Kyungsoo’s lap fully, and goes straight to putting that mouth to good use. 

After—after round two, round three, far after they should have departed their room, but who is going to come demanding a witcher leave—Kyungsoo presses his tongue flat against Jongin’s collarbone and licks at the beads of salty sweat there. He almost expects him to taste sweet, like honey. 

“I may be insatiable,” Jongin laughs, “but I’ve yet to hear you complain.” 

“Ch.”

The sorcerer laughs again, but it dies quickly in his throat. “Say, were you woken up at all last night?” 

“No.” 

“Ah, that’s good. A witcher needs his beauty rest, doesn’t he.” There’s something strained in the way Jongin says this, different from his typical levity. He does a good job of hiding it but—

Perhaps Kyungsoo is getting practiced at reading him. 

However it is, Kyungsoo knows a bad situation when he sees one. Whatever Jongin’s caught up on, it has sharp fangs. He leaves it alone. 

“Don’t you have to go back to Toussaint?” He says instead. Far, far safer waters. “How many days does a mage get to be away from court.” 

“Depends on the social skills of the mage,” Jongin replies. He’s slipping back into his clothes, which is quite unfortunate itself, but affords Kyungsoo the opportunity to watch the muscles on Jongin’s back ripple under his skin. Kyungsoo himself stays bare—best take advantage of this before his feet are rotting in his boots for a month straight. “But I’m going to Aretuza.” 

Aretuza—the mysterious center of the sorcerer political world. He’s never been there, of course he hasn’t. It’s a place for Jongin’s ilk alone. Nor, if he’s being honest, does he have any interest in seeing it. Whatever politics and roundtables occur there do not concern him. He’d rather clear a thousand crypts than spend ten minutes talking __court.__

“I didn’t realize I was helping on official business. I should've negotiated for more.” 

Ignore, for a moment, the already outrageous sum he’s being paid. 

“Oh, hush,” Jongin says, awfully fond. “And this was more of a... personal favor, for Master Baekhyun.” 

“And this Master couldn’t have handled it himself?” Not that he minds how things have turned out. 

Jongin shrugs. He’s entirely dressed now, standing by the lone, small window, looking but not seeing. He rolls the pouch containing the pendant idly around in his palm. “Baekhyun is the Headmaster of Aretuza—he can’t leave.” Jongin shakes his head a bit and rolls his shoulders back. “Plus, it’s not bad having the Headmaster owe you something.” 

To that, Kyungsoo certainly can’t disagree. 

“I have to go now. See me off?” 

For the first time, it occurs to Kyungsoo to be concerned. He’s drawn to the warmth of Jongin’s plush lips so easily, and they match so well. Not a fight at all, but a dance. It’s like he’s been put under a spell, but logically, no spell of that kind would work on a witcher. This is a separate kind of affiliation—one of the heart. 

It also means Kyungsoo is in some dragon-sized shit. 

Jongin spins up a portal. The room on the other side is lined with pale grey stone, with warm velvet accents. Aretuza is by the sea, isn’t it? Do sorcerers have a spell to keep the salt out, or do they make their trainees scrub the windows, too? 

Before Jongin goes, he throws a look over his shoulder. “Kyungsoo.” Gods and heavens above, his __smile—__ “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around.” 

Then Jongin steps through the portal, and he’s gone. 

  


-

  


“My, my my, have I heard some tales about you.” 

Even when teasing, Jongdae wears a bright smile. It’s one of his best qualities, even more than his genuinely lovely voice. Now that’s more that can be said about many bards. There’s an innocence in that smile, one that persists through having witnessed and written some more recent tragedies. 

“Little old me attracting all this attention?” Jongin teases back. “What brings you to this reprieve, social butterfly?” 

They’ve found themselves tucked behind a column in the large ballroom, where lords and ladies in ruffles mingle, dance, and plot the downfall of their enemies together. And drink—don’t forget the drinking. This castle is less ostentatious than others Jongin has been patron to; more grit-of-the-people than the gold that’s more to Jongin’s taste. 

Jongdae leans his shoulder against the cool stone of the column. He’s wearing a pretty velvet blue, and there are delicate feathers sewn into his hat. He rests one arm comfortable over his mandolin. 

“I could say the same for you. Since when has watching from the sidelines been your style?” 

“The mood comes and goes.” 

“I suspect it’s more than that, from what I’ve heard,” Jongdae says delicately, but doesn’t push further. 

Jongin snorts and turns his head to watch the crowds of courts. Gossip. It travels faster than wildfire. “And what have you heard about that, then?” 

“Don’t be defensive now,” Jongdae chides gently. Despite being what Jongin imagines is several centuries older than him, the bard has always had this motherly air about him. Strangely, he finds it soothing. “You know what I’ve heard, surely. But—” he quirks an eyebrow at Jongin, “I’ve also heard quite a few tales about a certain __witcher.”__

Internally, Jongin is thankful. Jongdae has cleverly steered away from the most unstable topic. __This__ is much better territory. “If you’re asking about his cock size, all the rumors are true.” 

Jongdae laughs, bright and in his loud way that has everyone nearby shooting them daggers. The looks are completely ignored. “Come now,” he says, quiet again so their conversation stays just between them. “Adventure after adventure you two seem to go on. I’ve never known you to be one to have, well, __relationships__ like this.” 

“You think Kyungsoo is my sweetheart?” He questions it, but in his heart, he finds himself pleased. 

Jongdae simply shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not saying he __is,__ but you don’t hang around anyone without reason.” 

“I hang around you,” Jongin pouts. 

“Ah, now don’t pretend our relationship doesn’t have certain benefits.” 

There—another thing to like about Jongdae. The honest way he approaches everything is refreshing, especially inside court. Well, his honesty is certainly __relative__ to court. Which is to say that Jongdae is a liar, but much less a liar than nearly everyone else in the room. People are drawn to him naturally, trust him easily, and as such he is the kind of man who __knows__ things. The cost of purchasing that information is steep, certainly, but what is even more difficult is knowing that Jongdae will sell his secrets at all. But once you’re, Jongdae is a man you can trust to be frank with you. 

This little songbird—Jongin worries for him, sometimes. It’s why Jongdae sports more than one magical accessory. 

“Wouldn’t a partnership with a witcher be a very useful one?” Jongin defends. As expected, Jongdae doesn’t buy a moment of it. 

“Enough for ten tales? Enough to—” 

“Please, Jongdae, not today.” The bard winces. “Trust that I’ve been lectured enough on the topic.” 

“You’re right,” Jongdae’s smile disappears for the first time. “You don’t need to hear it from me.” He turns away from Jongin, and they follow the pattern of the dance together. “Besides, it’s really none of my business.” 

Jongin makes careful measurements of his next words. “Your words ring true though, more or less. There is something between us. More than a contract, or favours, or whatever nonsense politics there are,” He can nearly see Jongdae tuck this piece of information away, his mental favours list giving one point in Jongin’s log. The information doesn’t come for free. 

“Thank you very much for your confirmation,” Jongdae says, cheery again. “I thought so. Who else would you be waiting at this dreary ball for?”

That Jongdae knows Jongin is waiting here, at this party in some minor castle, is the least surprising thing of the evening. Who else would have given the information that Kyungsoo would be here tonight? 

And there—perfect timing. The main doors to the ballroom swing open, and Kyungsoo comes striding through before the poor attendants even have time to announce him properly. 

He’s dressed completely inappropriately, of course. He’s still in his hunting clothes, and just the sight of him sends warmth coursing through Jongin’s veins. Fortunately, the rest of the court is looking at him, so there’s only Jongdae to see the ridiculous smile crawl across the sorcerer’s face. 

“Oh my, you’re in it, aren’t you?” Jongdae says. “Could be wonderful. Could mean trouble. But... do be careful with your heart, Jongin. You should know better than pretend you both don’t have one.” 

“I’ll give you more to sing about, my friend,” Jongin says as the final word. Following that, he sweeps out from behind his column in the dramatic fashion he knows best, managing to catch most (but not all) of the attention away from the new guest. He takes distinct pleasure in how fondly Kyungsoo looks at him, how relieved. 

They make quite the pair, the two of them. Kyungsoo swears up and down he’s the most beautiful creature in the Sphere (though, Jongin is well aware of his looks, thank you), but there’s no flattery like having the most interesting person in the room have eyes for nothing but you. 

Who’s to say the world doesn’t revolve around them? 

“The duke owes me money,” Kyungsoo says, sounding not at all surprised to see him. His hand doesn’t quite fall to Jongin’s waist, not yet, but the promise of it is all the same. 

“Mmmh,” Jongin hums. __I know, that’s why I’m here,__ goes unspoken. 

“You look...” As Kyungsoo’s words trail off, so do his eyes down the line of Jongin’s body. He knows he looks like something otherworldly tonight, with dark leather pants and a white sheer top. He even acquired a red cap to drape over himself to play coy. 

“I wore it all for you to take off.” 

“The duke owes me money,” Kyungsoo repeats. “A room could be made part of the deal.” 

Jongin steps aside, gestures to the waiting duke, and bows his head respectfully. He’d throw out all of his fancy court manners for Kyungsoo if need be, but hell if he can’t still mime the parts. 

“By all means then, go ahead.” 

  


-

  


The arrow comes to them by way of Junmyeon, who runs the only inn in Vizima that Kyungsoo actually likes. All of Vizima is a shithole, except for this little slice of it. More accurately, it’s the inn __Jongin__ actually likes, as Kyungsoo would sleep on the cold earth in the cemetery. 

But Junmyeon’s inn is warm and insulated, the maintenance is kept up, and the patrons know how to appreciate a quiet night opposed to rowdy bar brawls. 

These days, when Kyungsoo walks into a city, people do not spit on him anymore. The smart ones divert their eyes; the cowardly ones duck down an alley. 

The looks they give Jongin are of a different sort; people who look like him don’t come from this part of the world—they don’t come from any part, considering how Jongin’s appearance was magically constructed. 

“You never pull your hood down,” Kyungsoo says as they navigate the cobble streets of old Vizima. With Pepper, it’s slow going. Unlike Kyungsoo, Jongin has the luxury of hiding. He could give himself a different appearance, even a different shape, yet he always lets himself be seen, fully, when walking through a town. 

Sorcerers are not known for their bravery, but this is a certain kind. 

“And why should I hide?” Jongin’s hand brushes against Kyungsoo’s lightly, just enough to be an assuring touch. 

“Save you some trouble,” Kyungsoo mutters. The looks don’t bother him; being accosted by every townsperson with a problem __does.__

“Oh, I think you know trouble finds me easily enough with or without the attention. Come now, let’s hurry. I want to get out of the cold.” 

“Do you know the court mage here?” 

“Kibum?” Jongin nods. “Sure. Thank the heavens he got this posting instead. He’s just as sensitive to the cold as I am. I’m lucky to have—” he cuts himself off, worrying at his lower lip. 

“Toussaint may be warmer, but it’s not like you would know, what with how little time you seem to spend there.” 

“Kyungsoo, are you criticizing my work ethic? How could you when I’m parading all over the countryside helping you with __your__ job.” 

“I’ve never asked you to,” Kyungsoo defends. Says with too much edge to his voice. Even with his undeveloped social graces, he knows immediately it’s the wrong thing to say. Jongin’s face darkens with genuine hurt, and that’s not an easy thing to accomplish. Insults typically roll off Jongin like rain on a window. “Hey,” Kyungsoo grabs his hand in earnest. “I didn’t—”

“Mean it like that, I know,” Jongin says, putting on a small, pathetic smile. “You __can__ ask me to leave, you do understand.” 

“Shut up, I don’t want you to.” Kyungsoo feels heat rising to the apples of his cheeks. “You know I like having you around.” 

“Ah,” Jongin ducks in and drops a kiss on Kyungsoo’s temple, fast enough that no one sees. “The truth comes out at last.”

“I was lying,” Kyungsoo says without heat. “Go away.” 

“Come on,” Jongin says, pleased again. “Let’s not keep Junmyeon waiting. You know how grumpy he gets.” It’s not a lie—but Jongin also loves when the innkeeper gets mad. He’ll tease him just to see Junmeyon’s face get beet red. 

“I’ve got a present for you,” Junmyeon says once they appear in his doorway. Jongin wastes no time making himself comfortable at the bar; Kyungsoo watches as the other patrons subtly shift away from him, slowly putting more and more space at the bar between them. 

“Is it a pet dragon?” Jongin smiles. 

“No,” Junmeyon replies flatly. His attention turns to Kyungsoo. They nod to each other, and Junmyeon pulls up a tanker of dark beer. “Someone brought in a cursed object. An arrow.” 

Kyungsoo raises his eyebrow. “And they relinquished it to you?” 

“Well, he was in here bragging about this ornate arrow he found in a crypt. Found his body in bed the next morning. Arrow was stabbed through his chest.” 

“I bet the cleanup was a bitch,” Jongin chirps. 

“Where’s the arrow now?” Kyungsoo ignores the comment. 

“Wrapped in the magic-muffling sack you gave me,” the innkeeper replies. “Better safe than sorry. Finish your beer and I’ll take you to it.” 

True to the description Junmyeon provided, when Jongin and Kyungsoo get their eyes on the arrow, it’s indeed ornate. Far from a simple, functional arrow, the shaft is carved amber wood, looped and braided. The feathers on the end are a shimmering gold, and the arrowhead is gold as well, with delicate symbols carved into the surface. 

Magic drips off the thing. Kyungsoo tightens his gloves before touching it. 

“Maybe not cursed,” Jongin says thoughtfully over Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Certainly enchanted.” 

“This was special from the moment it was made.” Kyungsoo knows that for sure. “It’s far from home.” 

“Well then, maybe we should return it then,” Jongin suggests. “If we bring it home, then perhaps it will stop murdering its owners. And who knows, there might be a reward involved.” 

It’s a deceptively simple solution. A powerful enchanted arrow, clearly made with great care, probably for a specific purpose. Just bring it to its rightful place in the world. “These symbols,” Kyungsoo runs the pad of his thumb over them. “I’m unfamiliar with them, but they look old. Older than elves, even. There’s probably not a living soul who knows what they mean.” 

“Why don’t we just ask the arrow where to go?” Jongin says. Kyungsoo gives him a look. “What? It’s an arrow—they point places. Go places.” 

Kyungsoo shrugs. It’s worth a try. “You know our intentions,” he speaks directly to the arrow. “Show us your home and we’ll take you there.” He let’s go of the arrow. To his surprise, it remains hovering in the air all on its own. Slowly, it turns clockwise, until it’s pointing somewhere east, far beyond the dark walls of Junmyeon’s storeroom. 

“Wow,” Jongin looks just as surprised. “I genuinely did not expect that to work.”

“You __suggested__ it,” Kyungsoo reminds him. 

“A lucky guess, if I’m being honest. But it looks like we have a quest on our hands. How delightful.” 

They leave at first light, back on the road again. Pepper is well-rested, and Jongin’s body is solid and warm against Kyungsoo’s on the saddle. The sorcerer holds the arrow like a compass, and they head east just like that. Of course, mystical arrows hold no regards for roads, streams, and mountains, so they’re left to do their best and navigate around these obstacles. 

The first day, headed through the Vizima outskirts and surrounding towns, is quiet. These places are populated and well looked-after, as much as they can be. The people who live here do their best to keep the wilderness at bay. The second day leads them further into the countryside, hills turning into mountains and meadows into patches of dense forest. 

It’s also the second day that has them meeting a troll. 

There are countless entries on beasts in Kyungsoo’s bestiary, but trolls are one of the shortest, for the simple reason that they’re hardly dangerous at all. The bridge they approach is at the edge of a thick patch of trees on a cobble road, probably the only clear path through. The bridge is also in neat shape, meaning that this troll is doing his job. 

Yes, trolls do indeed live under bridges, collect fare, and repair the bridge in question. There was hardly ever a need to eliminate then, because local human residents almost always saw their presence as a benefit. Who else could fix a bridge better? 

“I wish they just smelled better,” Jongin wrinkles his nose. 

“They spend all day in a muddy river, what more do you expect?” 

“Perhaps I should conjure up some soap. And it goes to the fare.” 

“Never give a troll more than he asks for, unless you're willing to pay that same price every time,” Kyungsoo says, nearly quoting his bestiary entry from memory. That was part of Minseok’s training; no one has time to pull out a journal during a battle. 

“Hello there,” Jongin calls out cautiously as they near the bridge. Internally, Kyungsoo snorts. No, teleporting around the Sphere doesn’t lead to many strange encounters on the road. He actually finds watching Jongin attempt to navigate the situation endearing. 

The rumblings of the troll are muffled by the surrounding dense forest. Against his back, the arrow still hums. Jongin shrinks back but bounces back. 

“Pay the toll. Fifteen gold,” the trolls says in its deep, booming voice. Jongin fingers the gold in his hand, and looks back, panic flaring in his eyes as if to say __pay where.__

Kyungsoo decides to take pity on him. He snatches the gold and strides towards the troll. It __does__ have a putrid smell hanging about it, but Kyungsoo himself has smelled worse on occasion. 

“Anything interesting come by lately?” he asks. The troll sways back and forth. 

“Humans and elves. Elves and humans. Creepy crawlies in the trees at night.” 

Jongin swears softly. 

“Good to know.” Kyungsoo nods curtly. Nothing he hadn’t been expecting. “Jongin, come.” 

The whole way across the bridge, Jongin stays nearly glued to Kyungsoo’s back, his shoes nipping at his heels. 

Kyungsoo catches his wrist for a fleeting moment. “Scared?” he asks, not even jokingly. 

“No,” Jongin says. He’s a very practiced liar, and difficult to catch out even on his worst days, but the troll has made Jongin flustered, and thus lowered his guard. He hates to feel incompetent, and the embarrasement shows in the red flush of his cheeks. 

“Good,” Kyungsoo says. Anything else would be a lie. It’s good for even witchers and sorcerers to be afraid—it’s how you keep your head attached to your body. Both of Kyungsoo’s swords, the silver and steel, are heavy on his back. “Just watch my back, and I’ll take on whatever we encounter.” 

By now, that’s how Jongin knows they operate. But Kyungsoo still finds himself saying it, like a tiny ritual just between them. 

“My big strong witcher,” Jongin swoons. “Always here to take care of me. Aren’t I a lucky one?” 

Kyungsoo ignores him in favor of taking out the arrow from its pouch. Exposed, it begins quivering immediately, growing in force so that Kyungsoo’s entire arm, down to his bones, rattles. It is also, very clearly, trying to steer him in a particular direction. 

“Well, I suppose we won’t need a tracking spell after all,” Jongin hoists himself onto Pepper. “Coming, darling?” 

  


The small ball of light Jongin conjures hovers just beyond Pepper’s nose but illuminates only a few feet in front of them. As soon as they’d come to this part of the forest, the mist had set in thick, and so had the darkness. Below Pepper’s hooves are tangled webs of thick roots and moss of the deepest green, so much that it looks nearly black. 

These are unfriendly parts. Kyunsoo rides with one hand gripping tightly at the reins, and the other on his sword. The silver one. 

Jongin rides pressed up close to Kyungsoo’s back. His fingers are tense around his hips, not just nervous, but ready. Wary of any distractions or unwanted attention, they don’t speak. 

Instead, Kyungsoo imagines what Jongin’s narration of the scene would be. __What a dark and gloomy place you’ve brought me to, is this so you can have your wicked ways with me? I’ve never been a big fan of impenetrable darkness, myself. Dark colors make the room feel smaller, you know.__

They sense it at the same time. 

“Up ahead,” Jongin breathes into his ear. Kyungsoo is already hoisting himself up and out of the saddle. 

“Stay with Pepper,” he says. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Jongin replies. Kyungsoo downs a potion of vitality from his belt and lifts his sword. Jongin mutters some words; the ball of light bursts open and spreads light out into the reaches. At the same time, Kyungsoo sees the massive, hairy leg lunge towards him. 

“Kikimora!” He shouts as he brings his sword up in an arching slash. The reactive force in his swing isn’t strong enough to sever the leg entirely, resulting in a far more shallow cut than he would have liked. It still causes the kikimora to screech in pain, however , and puts much-needed distance between him and it. 

Now when the kikimora lunges again, Kyungsoo is ready for it. Sidestep, swing, and there—a much deeper cut to the beast’s leg. Another leg aims for his back, but then it’s recoiling when a flash of light sparks and is accompanied by the smell of burning kikimora flesh. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t turn around to thank Jongin, not just yet. 

Standing on the thick forest floor, Kyungsoo cannot trust his footing, so he allows the beast to come at him again and again, moving out of the way just enough to dodge and parry blows, trying as much as he can to avoid places he hasn’t already stepped. Despite having so many limbs, the kikimora is uncoordinated with them, especially now that two are injured. 

The sharp thorns on the kikimora’s legs are his primary worry, along with how to get close enough for an upwards thrust through its head. The hard shell of the kikimora is nearly impenetrable, and Kyungsoo is having enough trouble with maneuvering as it is. Thank the gods this is just a kikimora soldier, not a queen.

Paralyzing it is one idea; perhaps it's one that Jongin shares, considering his use of lightning magic. 

The kikimora swings again, and this time, Kyungsoo ends up on his knees. Not for anything the monster itself did, but from his foot, caught in a root. 

“Soo!” he hears Jongin shout behind him, followed by him seeing, hearing, and __smelling__ the lightning whiz by his head and striking the body of the kikimora. 

“I’m fine!” he grounds out. He hoists himself back to a standing position. Another round to come. Fight, fight, fight. This is what it knows. Fight past the limits of a normal human body. Take a hit, then another, and get back up every time. Be prepared for what cannot be prepared for. Keep your wits tight and leave honor in the warm safety of the tavern. 

Pepper snorts. The crackle of Jongin’s magic is palpable. There are sometimes moments like this in a fight, when Kyungsoo feels calm and centered. His back is guarded. It’s time for this kikimora to die. 

There’s no warning when the arrow bursts through the upper canopy of trees and embeds itself in the eye of the kikimora. The beasts screeches and thrashes, and Kyungsoo calls for Jongin to get back before dodging and weaving through the legs himself. As soon as he’s close he thrusts his sword up and it finds its home through the underside of its mouth, straight into its head. 

The death thralls of a monster are never pleasant to listen to. The cries never get easier. 

But Kyungsoo has more to occupy his attention than a dying kikimore, which not a minute ago was doing its very best to eat him. That arrow came from somewhere—and yes, there, when Kyungsoo looks up into the trees, the sharp eyes of elves look back. 

Creepy crawlies and elves, indeed. 

Jongin practically materializes at his side. They remain where they are, and the elves stay in the tree. During the fight the mist had cleared some, and without the veil Kyungsoo can see at least three elves balancing on branches. But where there are some elves, there are always more. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t sheathe his sword. He doesn’t care for race politics—and he can hardly be called human himself—but you don’t let your guard down when meeting dangerous strangers in the deep woods, even if they’ve helped you once. 

Jongin must have the same idea; besides him, he’s still completely on guard. 

“Thank you for the assistance,” Kyungsoo says once it becomes obvious the elves aren’t going to be the ones to break the tense silence. He can feel Jongin practically crackling in distaste beside him. 

“Not that we needed it,” he spits. Kyungsoo almost elbows him in the side.

“What business do you have here?” One of the elves wearing feathers in his hair demands. 

“Wasn’t aware you or anyone owned this miserable patch of forest,” Jongin says. His displeasure rolls of him in waves, and Kyungsoo moves half a step closer to him so that their hips bump—a weak attempt at mollifying him before a second fight breaks out. 

“Your kind has always been ignorant of what belongs to us,” the same feathered elf replies with just as much venom. “I ask again—what business do you have here?” 

“We’re bringing something that belongs here back,” Kyungsoo says before Jongin can put his foot in his mouth, again. “That’s all. We have no business with you, nor you with us.” 

The elf narrows his eyes. “The arrow of the forest god.” 

Of course they know about it. “Perhaps,” Kyungsoo says vaguely. 

The elves all nod to themselves. They speak to each other in hushed tones, in the tongues of elves that Kyungsoo never learned. “We sensed it,” the feathered elf says at last. “The forest is shifting, bringing you close to your goal,” he gestures to a gap in the trees. “This is your path. The rest of the way is clear.” 

Kyungsoo nods. Jongin grabs at his arm. “We’re just going to trust these tree rats?” 

The insult on Jongin’s tongue is a surprise. Jongin has disdain for a great many things, but this amount of vitriol sounds wrong coming from his mouth. 

“We have no reason to lie,” one of the other elves sneers. “You’re returning what belongs here. What was __stolen__. If you had other intentions— _ _have__ other intentions—we’d kill you here.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t it be fun if you tried.” 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Firm. __This is the end of this conversation,__ firm. Fortunately, Jongin shuts up. To the elves he says, “Once more, we appreciate the help. We’ll be on our way.” 

The elves don’t give them a goodbye when they slip back into the leaves. 

“What the fuck was that?” Kyungsoo turns on Jongin, but the sorcerer is already stalking back towards Pepper. “Jongin, fuck, stop.” 

Jongin pulls himself onto the horse in one graceful jump. He purposefully doesn’t meet Kyungsoo’s gaze when he leads her over to him. 

Kyungsoo clasps their hands. “Jongin,” he repeats, far more tender than before. He’d like to have this conversation anywhere else than next to the corpse of a kikimora, but luck is often not in Kyungsoo’s favor. 

“Just—” Jongin grimances. “Not a big supporter of elves, clearly.” 

“I could tell. But did you need to nearly start a second fight? And for what?” 

“They just go around acting so superior,” Jongin says, as if he doesn’t do the same exact thing when he parades through villages. “Just because their civilization was here before we arrived on the Sphere doesn’t make them better. How many races and empires did the elves crush themselves?” 

“Well, we’re all here now.” Kyungsoo strokes the inside of Jongin’s palm with his thumb. “Believe it or not, we all need to find a way to live together. Or I suppose we can all go around killing each other.” 

“An interesting this for you to say,” Jongin says, but the corner of his mouth tilts up. He shifts his grip and pulls Kyungsoo up onto Pepper. “Let’s return this cursed arrow and get the fuck out of here, please.” 

  


Entering the clearing, Kyungsoo has to check to see if they’ve entered a portal into another place entirely. It’s like night and day from the rest of the forest—quite literally. Here, the sun shines through the trees and glitters on the surface of a pond. 

At the center of it all is a totem carved from gray stone. At the top is a notch, a place that looks perfect for a missing arrow to go.

“This is an old place,” Jongin observes. The totem is indeed older than anything human made, even __elven__ made. “A magic place.”

Just as he suspected, when they dismount from Pepper and place the arrow there, it fits perfectly. Finally, the vibrating stops. A quiet stillness falls over the glade. 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whispers, voice filled with awe. “ _ _Look.”__

The witcher turns, and there, on the other side of the pond, is a deer unlike any sort that Kyungsoo has ever seen before. Most deer, he knows, are not glowing white. Its horns branch off like the roots of a tree, and it feels like it's golden eyes stare right through Kyungsoo’s core. 

What did the elves say? The forest god? 

Just as quickly as the god came, it’s gone again. But unlike with the elves, Kyungsoo actually feels __thanked.__ Already he feels a deep sense of satisfaction setting in his bones. Jongin is grinning. A __god,__ he must find it so delightful. 

“I’m going to meditate.” When they had just met, this is the kind of thing Jongin would have quirked an eyebrow at. Now, he just pats Kyungsoo on the arm and wanders off to do his own thing. Kyungsoo settles down in front of the altar, falls into that quiet, comforting space in his mind. 

Everything feels right in the glade; with the arrow returned to its home, balance has set in along with a calm stability. Time slips away and all that exists is his breath. At one point, that drifts away too. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know how long he’s been meditating when he comes back to reality. The warm breeze drifting through greets him with a friendly hug. He shifts, rolls out the kinks in his shoulders and back. 

Jongin’s been quiet—far too quiet. Kyungsoo is afraid of what he might discover when he turns around. 

It turns out he had nothing to fear after all. 

“Come in.” Kyungsoo looks up. Jongin has waded into the pool, up to his navel in the shimmering blue water. The water line teases the dips of his pelvis, and the droplets twinkle in the light on his bare chest. He looks breathtaking; if Kyungsoo hadn’t just seen the god of the glade himself, he’d think the magnificent creature standing before him was them. 

“Do I have to ask again?” Jongin says, sultry and smooth as the water itself. “Beg? Come join me in here, Kyungsoo.” 

Jongin’s eyes trace his body hungrily as Kyungsoo strips off his clothes. He’ll scrub them out later—there’s a more pressing need at the moment. 

The water is warm, a barely-there feeling that gently caresses Kyungsoo’s thighs as he wades in. Jongin gazes at him with nothing less than a ravenous expression. In the time it takes Kyungsoo to reach him, Jongin has already devoured him thoroughly with his eyes. 

Every time. Jongin looks at him like this every single time, and despite that it never fails to light a fire in Kyungsoo’s belly. 

Jongin greets him with the heated press of his mouth and the slide of his tongue against Kyungoo’s bottom lip. He moans into the kiss, pleased. One of his legs winds around Kyungsoo’s waist, the buoyancy of the water making him weightless in Kyungsoo’s hold. 

“The gods are going to watch us fuck,” Jongin moans in Kyungsoo’s ear. At the same time his hand trails down Kyungsoo’s chest, circling around one nipple, then the other. “It’s a good way to pay tribute to them.” 

Kyungsoo hauls Jongin’s other leg up around his waist with a rough tug. “You’re mine to have.” 

“Oh?” Jongin laughs. His breath travels close to Kyungsoo’s ear, and his hands clutch at Kyungsoo’s shoulders—he’ll have bruises there later, and Jongin will surely find opportunities to press into them, a reminder of his lust. “Jealous of even the gods, huh?” 

There’s no need for Kyungsoo to reply with words; instead, he pushes two fingers inside Jongin without warning, and that has whatever teasing the sorcerer had catching in his throat. 

Jongin hitches himself up higher. “More,” he begs. 

“More already?” Kyungsoo scissors his fingers, curling and bending them in the way he knows drives Jongin insane. “Begging for more like a tavern whore? What will the gods think of you?” 

“Shouldn’t, __oh,__ shouldn’t I give my body up to what I worship?” Jongin says as he fucks his hips back onto Kyungsoo’s fingers.

“Fuck Jongin,” Kyungsoo swears. Jongin is impatient on his best days, but even he’s not normally __this__ insistent. Barely two fingers in, barely stretched for Kyungsoo’s thick length. There’s something about this place, a haze of inescapable arousal. 

Beneath the water’s surface, Jongin’s cock rubs against Kyunsoo’s stomach, but with the smooth slide, there’s hardly any friction for him to use to get off on. He moans loudly into Kyungoo’s neck, where his teeth find purchase below the jawline. 

“I need it Soo, I need it,” he whines. 

Then Kyungsoo will give it to him. 

Whatever magic that’s caused this fever to appear in Jongin’s veins has also loosened his entrance. He’s still tight—gods, he’s always tight—around Kyungsoo’s cock, but Jongin nearly goes completely lax with pleasure once Kyungsoo buries himself up to the hilt. 

His beautiful eyes are glassy, but Jongin still kisses with all his intensity. Whatever it is that’s caught Jongin, Kyungsoo can almost feel it travel between them where their mouths and bodies are connected. He wants to pound into Jongin until there’s no division between them. 

The angle is less than perfect, though, and there’s nothing to hold them up but Kyungsoo’s own strength, but fucking Jongin is never bad. He fucks himself down on Kyungsoo’s cock, using his shoulders for leverage. Together their movement makes waves that ripple out across the pond. 

“I want to worship your cock,” Jongin moans. He clenches tight around Kyungsoo, causing the witcher to moan himself. There should be steam rising from the pond with how hot and heady Kyungsoo feels right now. 

“I like the idea of that,” Kyungsoo says lowly into Jongin’s ear. He gets to feel the full-body shudder that travels down his spine in response. “You singing the praises of my cock. But you know baby, I only give it to you.” 

“I want to make everyone jealous,” Jongin confesses in a gasp. “Kyungsoo—ah, __fuck, Kyungsoo__ —I want you. I want you all the time.”

Kyungsoo suckles a spot on Jongin’s neck. If that’s what Jongin wants, let him mark him, then. “You have me,” he says honestly. The truth of it is diluted by the moment, but Kyungsoo means it in his core. Jongin has him, entirely, more than Kyungsoo should have ever allowed. But it’s far, far too late to go back. 

Jongin cries outs and his rhythm stutters. He’s close to coming, Kyungsoo knows, so close, but he’ll hold himself back for Kyungsoo. Because Jongin gets off just as much on the witcher's pleasure as he does his own. The filthiness of being used—especially right here, in the sacred glade of a nameless god. 

He hopes this god, whoever they are, likes sacrifices of the bodily sort. 

“Come in me,” Jongin begs. “Soo, come in me, please, want you to.” His legs wind even tighter around Kyungsoo’s waist. His hips are trying to grind the best they can, but with the angle he can’t get Kyungsoo any deeper inside himself. 

“Baby,” Kyungsoo says a little softly, a little cruel. Only to Jongin, only ever to Jongin. “I’ll give you what you want.” 

Part of being a witcher is stamina, and it comes in handy now. Even after having held them both upright for this long, Kyungsoo still manages to jerk his hips up sharp and deep into Jongin, driving them both towards completion as the water sloshes around them.

Kyungsoo comes first, spilling into Jongin just as his mage has requested him to. Jongin follows right after, whining high and desperate as he digs his nails into Kyungsoo’s broad shoulders. 

Like that, the haze of the glade is broken. Kyungsoo can feel it lift, sees the clarity come back to Jongin’s eyes. 

Before the mage slips and falls backwards into the pond entirely. 

Jongin comes back up a moment later, wet hair plastered to his head and spluttering. He looks so __outraged,__ so __betrayed,__ and well, Kyungsoo can help but laugh. Jongin narrows his eyes at him. 

“Hey!” Jongin splashes at him, the size of the wave surely helped along by some wind magic. “No laughing! At least I’m entirely clean.” 

“Yes, that you are,” Kyunsoo glides forward in the water. He’s not nearly as graceful as Jongin (in any situation), but he has his moments. One of his hands finds itself betweens Jongin’s legs again, fingering over his puffy hole. Jongin’s yelp of surprise breaks into a moan. 

“Who knew a holy glade would be such an aphrodisiac,” Jongin muses once Kyungsoo withdraws his hand. Together they swim to shore and prop themselves up on the mossy side. The sun filters in through leaves and feels good on their skin, Jongin lets his feet dangle in the water. 

“God-assisted fucking,” Kyungsoo snorts. 

“Gods of the forest do tend to dabble in life,” Jongin says. “The harvest, circle of life, growth, all that stuff.” Jongin curls up at Kyungsoo’s side and kisses his pec lightly. The aphrodisiac may have faded, but he can sense a round two is not far off. “Aren’t you glad we took that arrow?” 

“This trip has advantages,” Kyungsoo replies. 

  


They sleep under the stars, bare to the world. It’s normally not a risk Kyungsoo would ever take, but the aura of protection around the glade holds steady as twilight drops over the forest. By returning the arrow (or perhaps, their “sacrifice”) the god of this patch of the Sphere cradles them in its grasp for the moment. 

Kyungsoo sleeps flat on his back, eyes up to where the stars peek through the leaves, and both his steel and silver sword less than an arm's-reach away. Jongin pillows his head on Kyungsoo chest, the spot where his shirt ties have been left open and the bare skin is visible. 

The moss is tender under the bodies, the trees protecting their backs. 

Kyungsoo has always been jealous of Jongin’s ability to fall asleep without trouble. When he’s in Kyungsoo’s arms at least, he’s asleep within minutes. Perhaps it’s just that he trusts the witcher to watch over him while he sleeps. 

Regardless of how quickly Jongin falls asleep though, it’s never a restless night. 

It’s been this way from the beginning—from the very first night Kyungsoo tumbled into the sorcerer’s bed in Toussaint. Kyungsoo will drift off once his own mind and heart has settled, but it won’t be long until Jongin’s tossing and mumbling is pulling him from the clutches of sleep. Sometimes, Kyungsoo won’t have fallen asleep at all before Jongin’s nightmares begin. 

Being a sensitive sleeper is part of the witcher job; Kyungsoo may not have slept a proper night through in his life (without the help of magic). It’s not trouble to be woken up. 

There are names that Jongin murmurs sometimes. Kyungsoo has never told him he’s heard them. He always whispers them, as if the very mention of their names are taboo. 

__Luhan. Tao. Yixing. Sehun. Kris._ _

Sometimes he says the name of his teacher back in Aretuza, Baekhyun, too. He wonders if it’s like crying out for his family. Jongin has never mentioned a family, though. And he’s never mentioned any of the people in his dreams, either. 

Kyungsoo never prie. He never brings up the names casually the next morning over breakfast. He’ll allow Jongin to keep some of his secrets, if that’s what he wants. All he does is shuttle the information away for later, for a __someday.__

As expected, Jongin starts his mumbling and shaking before Kyungsoo even drifts off. His fingers clutch involuntarily at Kyungsoo’s shirt, and he buries his head deeper in the chest under his head. All Kyungsoo can do is ride the wave with him and wake him up if it gets too bad. 

Sometimes Jongin settles himself without ever waking up. Sometimes he doesn’t. 

They’re memories, Kyungsoo thinks privately. Jongin’s dreams seem worn by time, a recurring terror that follows him throughout the years. Unless Jongin is being haunted by a curse Kyungsoo doesn’t know of, it’s the most likely situation. And Kyungsoo himself knows how a returning nightmare feels. 

Memories visit his dreams, too. Mostly of Kaer Seren, and the night before his Trial. He’s always in the basement, the chains cold around his ankles. A lot of the time, trainees tried to get away. It was foolish, but there were always some who tried to run from __witchers.__

Other times, he’s brought to his life before Kaer Seren, these scenes not so much memories as impressions. The most prominent time of his childhood, before the days he was delivered to Kaer Seren and Minseok’s care, is marred by cold. His freezing fingers; the wind splitting straight to his bones. And when you’re underfed, it’s impossible to warm up. 

It keeps going like that until he’s dead. Only then does he wake up. 

Here’s an old riddle: when is a witcher vulnerable? 

Kyugnsoo’s not telling. That’s what secrets are all about. 

Instead of facing this nightmares and memories swirling in his own mind, Kyungsoo wraps his arms tighter around Jongin. “I’m here,” he whispers. Maybe his voice can penetrate the realm of sleep and dreams. Maybe the feeling he refuses to name is strong enough to do so. “I’ve got you.” 

Morning comes late, or perhaps not soon enough. Jongin shows no sign of remembering his dream—he’s as chipper as ever, meaning Kyungsoo finds himself wanting to strangle him a tiny bit. They don’t bother covering themselves after Jongin grinds up against him when the birds are chirping their good morning cries. 

__What’s the point?__ Kyungsoo thinks, pondering how long they can afford to stay here. They’ll outstay their welcome, or the other way around, but peace these days is a hard thing to come by. 

Instead, he finds himself regretting this decision shortly. 

Jongin senses the portal a split second before Kyungsoo does—but the witcher’s reactions are still faster, and he’s just lifting his silver sword, putting himself between Jongin and it, when a figure steps through the crackling purple circle. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fought naked (and nothing can top the night with the vampire coven). 

“Heavens above Sehun,” Jongin groans. He places a sure hand on Kyungsoo’s sword arm. “Please, some warning.” 

Before them stands a tall (and admittedly beautiful, in the way of mages) man dressed in the fine clothes of a good court. Sehun, apparently.

Oh, one of the names. 

And Sehun is also quite obviously looking at Kyungsoo’s dick. 

“No,” Jongin snaps. “That’s mine. Don’t you have your own king to fuck?” 

“Testy.” Sehun says in a monotone. 

Without taking much regard for his own nudity, Jongin tosses Kyungsoo his trousers, but only bothers to wrap himself in his other shirt. 

“You’re interrupting, Sehun,” Jongin says. He’s angry, but not truly __mad.__ It seems more along the lines of the annoyance one has towards a sibling than true antagonism. 

Sehun leans casually against a tree. It’s difficult not to notice the lean, lovely line of his body. Like Jongin, Sehun is beautiful and very aware of that fact. And wants other people to be aware of it, too.

“Take your time,” Sehun swipes his tongue along his bottom lip. “What if I want to watch.” 

“I’ll steal all the air in your lungs.” 

There’s history between the two, but as to how much, Kyungsoo can’t say. Jongin rolls his eyes no less than three times in five minutes. At one point he just turns to Kyungsoo and sighs, the universal language of __I don’t know, he’s always like this. I’ve given up trying to change things.__

“But you didn’t come for that, obviously,” Jongin says. 

“No,” Sehun draws out. His eyes track over Kyungsoo again. People stare at him, and often, but rarely with this kind of naked hunger. “Although I do see what all the songs are about. I really came for a favor, though.”

That seems to change something in the atmosphere. Jongin frowns, but his body language is open; he’s giving Sehun his full attention now. They used to be close, then. Like brothers, maybe. That kind of dynamic Kyungsoo is familiar with. 

Kyungsoo has exchanged fists with nearly every one of his witcher brothers. There isn’t a single one he wouldn’t help if they asked. 

“Chan— the King of Aedirn requests your presence and consultation.” Coming from Sehun, the royal invitation sounds nearly sarcastic. “He has a little problem with a curse.” 

“And it’s something you can’t take care of?” Kyungsoo says. He needs to make sure they remember he’s actually there and not just a thing to be ogled over. 

Sehun scrunches his perfect eyebrows. “Yes, I always ask for help when something has already been solved. It makes me look incredibly smart and capable.” 

“And pretty,” Jongin adds. 

“I’m always pretty, Nini.”

“Nini?” Kyungsoo’s never once heard that nickname before, not from Jongin’s extensive list of acquaintances. 

Jongin flushes. “It’s from a long time ago,” he squeaks. 

“Well, it’s cute,” Kyungsoo snorts. 

The shade of red Jongin’s face lights up is very interesting indeed. “S-shut up.” 

“Perfect, a lover’s quarrel. I truly am an agent of chaos,” Sehun says, sounding far too proud of himself. “Not that this isn’t fun and all, but are you gentlemen ready to move this to Aedirn. Shirts and shoes in court though, please.” 

“I’ve never been called a gentleman in my life,” Kyungsoo grumbles at the same time Jongin says. “Shirts __and__ shoes? What is this level of sophistication?” 

“I told Chanyeol this was a bad idea,” Sehun mutters to himself. 

“We can hear you, ungrateful flea.” Jongin moves to slap at Sehun, but the other sorcerer slips just out of reach. “Goodbye sexy glade,” he sighs, a wistful melody on the breeze. 

Kyungsoo has to agree. There’s nowhere in the Sphere less sexy than __court.__

  


-

  


Their stories begin separately, in entirely different towers by the sea, but they intersect in one spot—Toussaint. 

Golden Toussaint. Rich, fertile, and warm. 

Well, slightly before Toussaint, when Kyungsoo found himself in cold and gloomy Sodden, in something of a bind with an old hag. When he wakes, he’s in Toussaint, in someone’s very comfortable bed. 

As soon as he registers that he is, in fact, awake, Kyungsoo lunges upwards. His arms automatically try to find his swords, but of course, they aren’t there, so his body moves onto trying to find anything else he can use as a weapon. The heavy silver candlestick on the end table will do. 

His body is halted by magic before he can do anything else. He’s still weakened from the poison—otherwise, this kind of spell would have far less an effect on him. 

“That’s a very rude way to wake up,” a man who is clearly a sorcerer says. He’s holding up his closed fist—the spell holding Kyungsoo still—but otherwise is leaning casually against an open window, through which golden morning sunlight streams through, along with a pleasant, soft breeze. 

The sorcerer is dressed in soft silks that capture every ripple of his body, soft colors embroidered with small flowers. His fingers are decorated with gold rings and jewels. This, then, must be the court mage. 

“Jongin,” the mage introduces himself. He released Kyungsoo from his hold. “And you...?” 

“Kyungsoo,” he answers slowly. “This is... Toussaint? Beauclair?” 

The mage smiles with too much teeth. “Very good, witcher. You are indeed in the castle in Beauclair. I brought you here after finding you in quite the predicament in a nasty swamp.” 

Kyungsoo takes a closer look at the room he’s in. It... does not seem like a guest room. It’s too personal for that—books lay open on tables along with jewelry; herbs hang along the windows; notes for magic hung on the wall. 

“You brought me back to your personal chambers?” That means this bed, then, is the sorcerer’s __personal__ bed. Well. The sheets are quite luxurious, so the mage has good taste, but he wouldn’t expect less from Beauclair’s official mage. 

“I didn’t want to share,” the mage says. “Don’t worry, I didn’t try anything uncouth. And I wouldn’t want to have put your recovery in jeopardy. That hag doused your with quite the poison. Any typical man would be in the ground by now.” 

Kyungsoo stares the mage down. “I’m no mortal man.”

“That you aren’t,” he agrees. 

The mage floats closer. He has a way of moving that is very much unlike anyone else Kyungsoo has ever met. An ingrained grace, a confidence in his posture. 

“Here,” Jongin says, holding out an arm. “Are you ready to stand? If you can, there will be food on the other side of this journey.” 

Cautiously, Kyungsoo accepts the gesture

  


Jongin gives him the Unofficial Official Tour of the castle in Beauclair. Toussaint and its capital city is just as beautiful as everyone says. The countryside as seen from the windows is lush and green, the sun bright. Whatever maladies haunting the rest of the Sphere seem non-existent here, or at least, hiding away. Or perhaps __hidden__ away—places like this often have long, dark shadows. The capital city Beauclair is just as gorgeous as the rest of the countryside, if not more so. It’s certainly cleaner than the dingy, crowded streets of a place like Vizima. Where do the beggars so here, he wonders. Maybe someone just collects them all and brings them someplace to die. 

Kyungsoo is a skeptic. He can’t help it. And to his credit, as well as Jongin appears to fit in here, he does not gush about Toussaint. 

That does not mean Kyungsoo trusts him. 

True to his word, however, Jongin guides him to a lower kitchen and dining area, off the beaten path the other court royals follow for some much-needed food and fine Toussaint wine. Jongin does enough talking for the both of them, background about the city, the castle, gossip about some court members—most of which Kyungsoo zones out. 

But Jongin is also watching him, closely at that. No, perhaps __watch__ is not the right word. __Studying__ him would be more accurate. 

“Would you like to see the city?” Jongin asks as Kyungsoo finishes up. The sorcerer eats delicate slices of plum with his fingers, the juices staining his long fingers purple. “I’d like to monitor you for a while longer for any ill effects of the poison, but of course, you’re entitled to your belongings, and I’m happy to continue showing you around?” 

“You don’t have other things to do than play host to a witcher?” 

Jongin’s smile takes on a frozen quality. “You’d be surprised,” he says stiffly. 

Alright. Fine. 

“Why not,” Kyungsoo agrees. 

It’s in the hall that they run into their first person of note—until then, only servants had been scuttling around in their peripheries, none of them getting too close. Kyungsoo couldn’t tell if it was because of him, or Jongin. 

“Nothing here is secret for long,” Jongin whispers to himself as a figure in a velvet blue overcoat comes striding into view. 

“Ah, greetings spellmaster,” the new man says. He has a stupid, ridiculous moustache pasted to his upper lip. “I have heard you’re hosting a __guest.__ ” 

“Yes,” Jongin says blandly. It doesn’t take the observational powers of a witcher to know these two do not like each other in the least. 

The man turns his disgusting attention to Kyungsoo—and then stops dead. It seems he has, for the first time, taken note of Kyungsoo’s eyes, and all the implications of them. He gets the feeling this man is not often rendered speechless, but that is what he is now. It seems that the true nature of Kyungsoo’s presence here has been a secret—that would explain why he was in Jongin’s own room and not a guest quarter. “Spellmaster,” the man says tightly. “I’m sure the duke would like to know you are hosting a __witcher__.”

“Oh yes,” Jongin’s smile takes on a nasty edge—maybe there’s more to him after all. It’s enough to get Kyungsoo’s interest piqued. “Advisor to the duke,” Jongin introduces. With that expression, Kyungsoo wouldn’t be surprised if a bolt of lightning suddenly came down and smited the advisor from existence. “Sir, Kyungsoo of the School of the Griffin.” 

“It’s, ehem, good to meet your acquaintance, Kyungjin.” 

“It’s not,” he answers. Impressively, Jongin manages to stifle his laughter before it’s too obvious. The advisor looks like he’s swallowed his own tongue. 

“Excuse me?” the man says. 

“It’s not,” Kyungsoo repeats. Toussaint may be more enjoyable than he thought. “Good to meet you. In fact I feel I would be better off not knowing you. Neither is that my name.” 

“...well then,” the advisor says after an excruciating silence. “I must be on my way.” 

“You do that,” Jongin says, sounding actually happy for the first time. Together, they watch the advisor scurry away. 

“Actually, Jongin, would you show me your study?” Kyungsoo asks There’s something much softer in Jongin’s eyes now. He nods. 

“Of course, it’s this way. The view is really quite marvelous.” 

The view is indeed as good as advertised, but the Toussaint scenery is not what Kyungsoo finds himself looking at. Once inside the study, Jongin removed his overcoat and loosened the front laces of his shirt. In the gold sun coming through the window, Kyungsoo cannot help but look at the rise and fall of the sorcerer’s chest. 

Said sorcerer is bent over a magical instrument he’s explaining to Kyungsoo, not that the witcher is paying a great deal of attention to Jongin’s __words.__

Kyungsoo may be a mutant, but he is still a man. 

“You’re looking,” Jongin glances up from his work, looking at Kyungsoo through his thick lashes. 

“I am,” Kyungsoo answers. 

A mischievous grin crawls over Jongin’s face. “Do you like what you see?”

“Better than anything else in Toussaint. So far.” 

“So far?” Jongin rises from his seat and makes his way slowly over to Kyungsoo, a cat on the prowl. “I dare say that sounds like a challenge.”

“If you accept it to be.” Kyungsoo’s eyes move from his chest to the way his trousers grip around his thighs. They would look lovely, he thinks, wrapped around his hips. 

The sorcerer doesn’t so much drop to his knees as slither, smooth as silk, into the opening Kyungsoo has made for him. He looks too good to be real down there, an aberration like the rest of Tousaint. But the pleasure that races up Kyungsoo’s nerves when Jongin grips his cock is real, oh so real. 

Jongin teases Kyungsoo’s cock with his tongue, like he’s playing a game. This __is__ a game, isn’t it? Jongin and Kyungsoo have decided the other is the most interesting playmate available, so here they are. 

“Quite the mouth on you,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

With that dangerous tongue, Jongin traces the underside of Kyungsoo’s cock, following the pulsing vein. It seems he took that as another challenge. Kyungsoo is already nearly fully hard. From waking up in a hurry to now, this is not what he expected from the day, but his body isn’t complaining. 

One hand already around the base of Kyungsoo’s cock, the sorcerer uses the other to grab Kyungsoo’s hand and place it in that strange mess of hair. He gets the message—he gets a handful of the white locks and pulls, so that Jongin’s pleased hum vibrates against his dick. 

“Are you going to kneel there,” Jongin raises an eyebrow. A dribble of saliva falls from his plush lips onto the flush head of Kyungsoo’s cock, “or are you going to prove yourself?” 

“Witchers, so demanding,” Jongin says before swallowing down Kyungsoo’s cock. 

Being perfect is a sorcerer’s thing, but until this moment, Kyungsoo never knew it extended to giving head as well as physical appearance. 

The sorcerer sucks cock as well as his pretty lips says he does. There are many stories about a witcher’s girth, and for once, most of them are true. Kyungsoo is thick and long, but Jongin takes him well, and uses his hand to reach where his warm mouth can’t. 

It’s a little desperate and sloppy, too, which is perfect because anyone could—

“Shit,” Kyungsoo groans, and not in pleasure, “the door.” 

Without raising his head, Jongin flicks his wrist and the lock clicks shut. This time, Kyungsoo’s groan is thick with desire. 

Kyungsoo grips Jongin’s hair tighter, uses the leverage to push Jongin further down on his cock than the sorcerer thinks he can go. It forces little choking noises out of his throat, ones that go straight to Kyungsoo’s tightening balls. 

  


The rest of the next few days Kyungsoo spends, primarily, back in the sorcerer’s personal chambers. They’re bathed in golden light, just like the rest of him. The sheets are light, and the air is warm, even in the evenings. Sweat pools in the crevices of their bodies, but there’s something to it that’s all part of the appeal. 

He heals quickly. Of course he does, it’s part of the appeal of having a mutant body. As soon as he does, he has Jongin pressed against his rich sheets, moaning prettily under Kyungsoo’s ministrations. 

Unsurprisingly, Jongin in bed is as gorgeous and perfect as the rest of him, especially when he arches his back just so when Kyungsoo slides into him. 

Despite being the court mage, Jongin doesn’t appear to do much actual magic beyond perfunctory tasks, at least when he’s with Kyungsoo. 

“Quite the cushy post you’ve got here,” Kyungsoo says in the evening on his third day from where he lounges in Jongin’s bed. Said sorcerer sits a few feet away in front of his ornamental vanity, covered only in a loose, light robe, doing something with perfumes and tints. He hums something in response. 

“But you don’t like it here,” Kyungsoo continues. 

He’s not certain of it, but it fits. Jongin’s put no effort into anything else since he attached himself to Kyungsoo a few days ago. Not his duties, not tours of the city or countryside. They lay around in gluttony and fuck, which is quite the pleasant change of pace for a witcher, but aren’t the duties of a court mage. 

It would make far, far more sense if Jongin didn’t want to be here at all.

“It’s impossible not to like Toussaint,” Jongin says with a joyless laugh, body still turned towards the vanity. It’s a somewhat transparent attempt to get Kyungsoo off his back, but also not quite a lie. 

“You don’t like the court. The castle.” 

A deep sigh rumbles in Jongin’s chest. He makes eye-contact with Kyungsoo through the mirror. “It seemed fun when I was in training—going to court, advising kings, solving magical problems. What no one told me is all the __politics.__ People here treat me like a carrier pigeon that can do party tricks when they’re the humans who wouldn’t know a potion from a draught.” 

The disdain is evident in his voice. 

“You think yourself better than them?” 

“You don’t?” Jongin retorts. 

Kyungsoo lays back on the bed and studies the intricately carved ceiling. Every room in the castle must be like this, if not moreso. He feels like he can make out some particularly phallic shapes. “I think that I know it’s very hard in this world to be better,” he says. “Mostly, people are shit. Mostly everything is shit.” 

Jongin returns to bed. The appeal of sliding into Jongin’s warm and welcoming body has yet to grow old, even after three days of nothing but this. It may be the effects of Toussaint—everything here runs slow like sugary molasses—but it is even more like just __Jongin.__

He loves to watch as Jongin throws his head back as he rides Kyungsoo’s cock on his bed, thighs pulsing, his navel pulled in tight. The noises Jongin makes when Kyungsoo tugs at his cock are the loveliest sound in the world, and when he cries out when Kyungsoo sucks and nips at his nipples, well, that’s even better. 

Yesterday, a servant walked in on them, on Kyungsoo taking Jongin bent over his table. Surely people are talking about them now, but Kyungsoo also has the feeling that the sorcerer __wants__ them to talk. As a good liar, Jongin is also good with secrets. 

“If I had a job for you, would you take it?” 

Jongin peers at him with dark eyes, propped up on his forearm. It makes the lines of his neck look particularly appetizing. Sweat from their fucking still glistens on his skin 

And wouldn’t Kyungsoo like to easily agree, to see what Jongin wants. It could be simple—there are ghosts in the crypt, a beast is secretly eating people, something uncomplicated like that. 

But Kyungsoo has been a witcher for quite some time. And no witcher stays alive for long without being able to sense danger. 

“Depends on what it is,” he says slowly. He’d very much like to be dressed for this, he thinks, and rises from the bed to do just that. Jongin stays where he is. 

“Nothing you haven’t done before,” Jongin nimbly dances around the question. Kyungsoo locates his trousers and pulls them on, then his boots. 

“Are you going to hold your tongue forever, or will you actually tell me what it is?” 

“Well you see,” Jongin plays idly with the sheets, “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with the advisor. You met him—obviously not the most pleasant fellow. And I was hoping you’d take care of it for me.” 

Oh, he has to be kidding. Hasn’t he? Kyungsoo knows exactly where this is headed, and it’s causing a growing pain in his gut. 

“What. Do you mean by that.” 

“Don’t be obtuse,” Jongin pouts. “I’d like you to __take care__ of him.” 

“You want me to kill the advisor for you. To what, make your life at court easier?” Kyungsoo levels him with his flattest, most stern gaze. Jongin just raises his eyebrow innocently. 

“I need the duke to listen to me to do a good job as court mage. The advisory with his stupid, ridiculous ideas endanger the peace. It’s best for everyone if he, ah, goes away for a bit.” 

“I’m not an assassin.” 

Jongin eyes his steel sword pointedly. “Then what is that for? I don’t think steel is very effective against monsters.” 

“Don’t twist my words, witch.” Jongin crinkles his nose like he’s just smelled something awful. 

“Ugh, please, don’t call me a witch. I’ll pay you, of course, if that’s what you’re on about. I know how witchers work. Taking me to bed is free, but the real dirty work requires coin.” 

“You’re just like the rest of the. You claim to hate politics,” Kyungsoo growls, “but here you are playing them with me. You’re nothing more than a two-headed snake, pretending to be better than the rest of them when you’re exactly the same.” 

“Ah Kyungsoo, you wound me,” Jongin says, sounding not too bothered at all. The only thing he does is do up the tie to that blasted robe of his, and leans back against his fancy pillows without a care in the world. “Should you really be this worked up though? I never recall lying to you. In fact, I asked you for help without any deceit.” 

“You misrepresented yourself.” But really, Kyungsoo knows that Jongin __is__ right, in a way that’s a bit twisted. It’s Kyungsoo who had expectations and presumptions, and he projected them on that beautiful face and blank canvas hair. 

“To be known,” Jongin snorts. “What an awful thing. Why are you even angry, it’s all just business to you.” 

Kyungsoo bites his tongue. He can hardly admit it to himself, much less say it out loud. He didn’t trust Jongin, but he wanted to. He felt—he felt they would be able to understand each other. 

But Jongin must have seen something on his face. “Ha,” he laughs in disbelief. “You really are bothered by this, aren’t you?” If Kyungsoo were the kind to blush, he would be doing so furiously. Instead, his body is consumed with the heat of anger. “I didn’t realize it was possible to hurt your feelings.” 

It’s just wistful thinking, but Kyungsoo wants to imagine there’s a piece of genuine regret in Jongin’s voice. 

“Fuck you, deal with your own problems,” Kyungsoo bites out. He throws on the rest of his clothing with haste. Let him forget about this place. Fuck Toussaint and everyone in it—it smelled sweet and sickly from the beginning. 

“Witcher, wait!” Jongin calls out, voice high and tinged with panic as Kyungsoo moves for the door. Quickly, he says, “you owe me your life remember.” 

For a moment, it stops Kyungsoo. The burden of a life debt is a heavy one to carry. 

“You’ll have to wait to collect on it.” Not this. Kyungsoo won’t dirty his hands with a political assassination. “I’m not your tool. I’m not anyone’s tool.” 

When he leaves Toussaint, he doesn’t look back. 

  


-

  


It’s been quite some time since Kyungsoo’s been to Aedirn, probably not since the new King, Chanyeol of Hearth, they call him, was a boy. But things are more or less the same as he remembers them being. Chanyeol, apparently, has the same taste in royal decor as his father, just with more red. 

King Chanyeol greets them in his throne room, an altogether too formal ritual that has Kyungsoo shifting restlessly side to side where he stands. Fortunately, the four of them are alone. 

Jongin’s court manners come out again. Next to Kyungsoo he stands the perfect picture of wisdom and power, beauty and strength. Someone you can trust with your secrets and to take care of your most troubling problems. Wisdom, debatable, Kyungsoo would tease, but the rest are objectively true. 

Well, that and Jongin isn’t a good secret keeper, at least with anyone’s secrets but Kyungsoo’s. 

Sehun ambles up to the King’s side, dips low to murmur into his ear. It’d be far too much of a show for a different audience, but the King is the King, and Jongin is supposedly a friend, so Kyungsoo is not all too surprised when King Chanyeol beckons Sehun closer with the crook of a finger and an intimate hand against his jaw. 

Kyungsoo and Jongin share a loaded glance. Jongin knows how to speak sentences with his eyebrows alone, and today they say, __quite the sight, isn’t it?__

Yes, indeed. 

After far too long of a moment, the two straighten and King Chanyeol greets them properly, with a booming welcome and a smile that carries even further than his voice does. 

“The subject of songs and legends, here in my court!” King Chanyeol says. “Aedirn is pleased to host you.” 

“The pleasure is ours,” Jongin says, mercifully speaking on Kyungsoo’s behalf. “To be summoned by the King is an honor. And by his own mage, no less.” 

Somehow, King Chanyeol’s smile widens. “Sehun told me you two were friends—going all the way back to your apprentice days. I could think of no one better.” 

“And for what, exactly?” Kyungsoo drawls. “Sehun mentioned a curse. Let’s talk about that.” His collar is beginning to itch just from standing in the throne room. 

“Ah, the witcher gets ahead of himself,” Sehun interjects smoothly, all while shooting Kyungsoo daggers. It seems all mages are trained in the art of politics, not just magic. “His enthusiasm for the hunt is too much. We can talk more about the fine details in my study, after dinner is served.” 

“No, no, don’t worry about it Sehun.” The King’s touch at the inside of Sehun’s elbow lingers for just a moment too long. “You live up to your reputation, witcher! Straight to the point. Well, there’s no reason to wait around, now is there? You’re right—what I’ve summoned you here for is indeed a curse.” 

“The details,” Kyungsoo probes.

“Please,” Jongin adds without a beat inbetween. 

“Well,” King Chanyeol laughs awkwardly, the first break in his confidence. “Of that we’re not entirely sure.” 

“I’ve done my best to research the nature of the curse,” Sehun says, “but Aedirn is facing many challenges that prevent me from seeking out old tombs and archaic spells that could hold the answer.” 

“Aedirn is facing more pressing problems than the King being cursed?” Kyungsoo raises his brow. 

“Ah—let’s talk about the __nature__ of the curse,” Jongin interjects. “My lord, you seem to be in good health. How did the curse become apparent to you?” 

With a nod from Sehun, King Chanyeol rolls up his sleeve. Both Kyungsoo and Jongin step in closer to look, curiosity—and professional interest—winning over decorum. On the King’s muscled forearm is the red burn of a rune, burning an angry, unnatural red. 

In a flash, Kyungsoo is brought back to the moment in the witch’s workshop, years ago now, and the rune carved into the doorway. That same hexagon with intersecting lines. 

In his concentration, he misses the flurry of expressions that pass between Sehun and Jongin. 

“I’ve seen this before,” Kyungsoo says to himself, but unfortunately too loudly to keep out of the King’s earshot. 

“Really? Sehun, see! I mean—your experience is most valued, witcher.” 

“I don’t have much knowledge on it, but it’s a lead,” Kyungsoo says, mind already beginning to turn, caught up in the mystery of it, now. “Jongin knows more, don’t you—” 

To his right, Jongin is standing very still, shoulders tense and hunched by his ears. His bottom lip is clenched between his teeth, worrying it a distressing shade of red. It takes him three full, tense seconds to notice Kyungsoo had been talking to him. 

“What—oh, yes. I might have more details on the rune. It—it appeared when?” 

“Two weeks ago. Sehun exhausted his local search here during that time.” 

“Two weeks is a long time to live with a curse,” Kyungsoo says, though his mind is straying further and further from the mystery, and more towards whatever’s happening to Jongin before his eyes. 

“We. We don’t know what caused it,” King Chanyeol says through his teeth. Right, a likely story. He’ll have not been the first person to lie to Kyungsoo, despite having sought out his help, and he certainly won’t be the last.

Obviously picking up on Kyungsoo’s doubt, Sehun says, “we have reason to believe a maid was an unknowing carrier of the curse.” Hm. Protecting a (second) mistress, then? Investigating __that__ goes far beyond Kyungsoo’s scope, and what’s more, he doesn’t particularly care. 

They’re interrupted by a very obvious squeaking, clearly made by someone who doesn’t want to interrupt. Through a side door, an attendant pops his head in. “Um, my Lord? You’re uh, running a bit behind schedule?” 

“Of course!” King Chanyeol waves his hand around, smoothly rolling down his sleeve to cover the rune carved into his skin. “Sehun, I trust you can handle this without me.” 

“Of course, my Lord,” Sehun says, prim and proper, before shuttling them off down a side corridor.

In the hallway, Jongin mutters a “just a second,” to Kyungsoo before dragging Sehun down a ways by his sleeve. Kyungsoo follows a slow, respectable distance away, but his mutant hearing still causes him to pick up on some phrases. 

__—couldn’t have warned me?_ _

__What the fuck were you thinking—_ _

__—involving me in this—_ _

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo calls, louder than he needs to. He gestures broadly to the setting. “Maybe not in the hall?” 

“Yeah... you’re right. You’ve got a study, right Sehun?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sehun grumbles. “I’m a court mage, of course I’ve got a study. What do you take this place for, a backwater village?” 

“Not every place is as comfortable as Toussaint,” Kyungsoo says. 

Sehun gives him a sour look. Clearly, he doesn’t think Kyungsoo is as funny as Jongin does. 

“Speaking of Toussaint, is this something they could help with?” Kyungsoo asks once they’re safely in Sehun’s study, enchantments protecting their conversation. Surprisingly, the room is tidy and organized—Kyungsoo had expected Sehun to be closer to Jognin’s haphazard style of magic management. “Are Aedirn and Toussaint on decent terms? I seem to recall an extensive library there, at the least. And there are resources to be tapped.” 

“Why would he know what’s going on in Toussaint?” Sehun furrows his brow. “Jongin would probably be shot as soon as he crossed the border, with how he left things. Baekhyun is still pissed about your disappearing act, you know.”

Jongin is quick to hide his wince, but Kyungsoo catches it all the same. He notices everything Jongin does. 

“What does he mean by that, Jongin?” he asks. Sehun’s brows shoot up into his hairline. 

__“Oh,”__ he says. Quickly going from his casual teasing to __shit.__ Disbelieving, he says, “You didn’t—Jongin, you didn’t tell him this whole time?” 

“Sehun, shut up.” Jongin sighs. With his eyes cast to the floor, he says, “I uh—I might have left—”

“Abandoned,” Sehun cuts in, reflexively.

“Sehun. __Shut. Up.__ ” The other sorcerer shuts up so quickly the __clack__ of his teeth is audible.“As I was saying, I left my post in Toussaint,” Jongin says in a rapid exhale of breath. He twists his mouth into an awkward shape. 

“Oh,” Kyungsoo replies, too dumbfounded to be more articulate. 

“Are you angry?” He asks in a weak voice. 

“No,” Kyungsoo says immediately, before he has time to consider if he is or not. “Your post has nothing to do with me.” Which is true, but far from the whole story. Kyungsoo and Jongin have been intertwined for a long time—years, now, longer than some normal humans are married. Sure, Jongin dips in and out, but Kyungsoo had always assumed he'd gone back to Toussaint. “How... how long has it been?”

The way Jongin speaks sounds like it’s painful for him to make sounds at the current moment. “Um. Since before the harpies.” 

“Since—ok.” The harpies were a while ago—a __long__ while ago. Has he been lying? Does this count as lying?

“You’re angry,” Jongin moans in despair. “You are. I meant to tell you—but I—I don’t know. I never did.” 

“I’m trying to decide if I’m angry,” Kyungsoo corrects, as gently as he can. His efforts don’t seem to help much; Jongin’s expression is deteriorating by the second. “You could have told me. You didn’t, but you could have,” he says haltingly. Speech has never been his best form of communication. “It’s—it’s alright. I’m not angry, Jongin, truly.” 

He cups Jongin’s cheeks in his hands, Sehun be damned, and wipes the unshed tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes away. He’s still so lovely when he cries, but that doesn’t mean Kyungsoo wants to see it.

“But you’re hiding something else, aren’t you?” he says just as soft. Under his touch, he feels the exact second, the terrible moment, when Jongin freezes entirely. “About the rune. You’re both hiding something.” 

Over Jongin’s shoulder, Sehun looks down and away to play with one of the many glittering rings decorating his fingers. Whatever is going on, Sehun knows, too, perhaps even more than what he’s told King Chanyeol. 

“It’s the mark of a group called EXO,” Jongin says. He doesn’t move away from Kyungsoo, and that is a win. Cornered, Jongin is a flighty thing. That he’s chosen to stay in Kyungsoo’s embrace is a gesture of trust the witcher doesn’t take lightly. “I told you before, they bring nothing but trouble. But it’s not—they’re not around anymore. They couldn’t have done this.” 

Kyungsoo nods. This is ok—he doesn’t need to push any further than that. “But could someone have impersonated them? Used their mark to make themselves seem more threatening.” 

Sehun and Jongin share a look. “It’s the only option I can see,” Sehun says. 

“Whoever they are, though, they—and the curse—need to be taken seriously. No witch or sorcerer would use that symbol lightly,” Jongin adds. 

Kyungsoo reaches us, cups the back of Jongin’s neck secure and steady. “Good thing this team is on it then, right?” Jongin’s smile creeps towards his eyes. He leans down and meets Kyungsoo’s lips in a chaste kiss. 

“You’re damn right.” 

  


-

  


When Jongin first arrives in Aretuza, he is but a fragile little lamb. He’s thin and small, like every other peasant boy whose family never quite had enough food to put on the table. That’s more of a figure of speech—Jongin didn’t have a family, or a table to put food on in the first place. 

Aretuza is nothing like the backstreets of the city he grew up in. The only thing that’s similar is the maze of corridors, but besides that, they couldn’t be more different. It’s in the air, mostly. Aretuza is a place of power and promise, of the future, while where he came from is one of decrepitude. 

He already knows he won’t ever return there. He may be crawling out of his skin here with nervous energy, but he won’t go back to the streets. Baekhyun, the scary one in charge, says that if he passes the first tests he gets to stay. And if that happens, he won’t be Jongin of Anywhere, either. He won’t even be Jongin—he’ll pick a new name, a new face, a new everything. 

There are other students (a loosely uniting term) walking around in grey linens too. None have been around for long, and the majority of them are as boring as the stones their uniforms make them look like. There’s one exception, however, and he arrives three days after Jongin. 

The boy’s name is Sehun, and he’s smaller than even Jongin. A harsh burn covers the left side of his face, the poor bastard, all the way to his ear. When people try to talk to him, he snarls his lips into a cruel shape, and this deters nearly everyone. 

__Nearly__ doesn’t include Jongin. 

“Did they tell you why we’re here?” Jongin saddles up to Sehun during a meal, after watching Sehun give the cold shoulder to someone for eight straight minutes. He watches, a bit pleased with himself, as Sehun jumps out of his skin when Jongin speaks. 

“Holy hell,” Sehun swears. Even here, Jongin is invisible. “Where the fuck did you come from, the wall?” 

“Sure,” Jongin says impassively. “Well?” 

Sehun eyes Jongin for a moment. Whatever he sees, Jongin must pass some sort of unspoken test. “Magic,” Sehun mumbles. “The pink haired guy said something about magic and chaos.” 

“Baekhyun,” Jongin confirms. He remembers the exact moment Baekhyun appeared in his life—the kindness and danger in his eyes. He’d promised a different life for Jongin, if he could find the strength to get off his knees now. “He’s the man in charge around here.” 

“Have you actually learned anything yet?” 

“No,” Jongin shrugs. “I think we’ve been waiting for you.” 

  


The other students prove to be as useless at magic as Jongin thought they would be. For him it seems so simple, so easy. To watch the flower wither in one hand to make the rock levitate above the other. All magic has a cost, but he already knows that. __Everything__ has a cost. 

Sehun performs well, too, and it widens the gulf between them and the others even further. It doesn’t hurt that after the first month of instruction, Baekhyun no longer hides his favoritism. 

It’s a privilege being here, but Baekhyun is a harsh teacher, despite his friendly appearance. He also doesn’t try to hide the dark undercurrent of power simmering in his eyes, and that alone commands the student’s respect—and fear. 

But Baekhyun also commands a different kind of power, one that has nothing to do with his magic prowess. People want him to like them. And they’ll do __anything__ to make him like them. Disappoint Baekhyun, and the defeat is crushing. He’ll allow anyone to smile and joke around while he’s instructing, but fail your test, and they’ll be hell to pay. 

It’s why the jealousy that hits Jongin and Sehun is so biting, so venomous. 

It drives the two closer together, though. Sehun with his scars, and Jongin the invisible shadow behind him. And it drives them to be better. 

Jongin knows hunger. He knows what it’s like for that feeling to be eating away at your ribs. And Jongin is hungry for this, whatever __this__ is. He’ll show Baekhyun bringing him here wasn’t a mistake, even if it costs him everything. And then everyone will have no choice but to see him.

  


There’s a man standing in Baekhyun’s office. Tall, with a stiff black coat and a high collar. A pretty, carved amulet sits just below the hollow of his throat—it’s the kind of thing that would have caught Jongin’s attention on the streets, made this man a target. Another sorcerer, of course, and one who looks the part. He barely gives them a glance when Jongin and Sehun slip through the door. 

“You’re wasting your talents teaching here,” the man tells Baekhyun, who beckons the two boys closer. 

“It’s not forever,” Baekhyun says lightly. “Besides, I’m finding new recruits, for __you,__ if you recall. Boys, this is Kris of Cidaris. Please don’t be off-put by his grouchiness. Kris, this is Kai and Sehun.” 

Jongin flushes with pride when he hears Baekhyun say that name. It’s the one he’s chosen for himself, after he Ascends and leaves this horrid body behind. He’s told Baekhyun he wants to become someone entirely new, and that necessitates a name. 

(Baekhyun has voiced his disagreement, saying that the Ascendance ceremony will only reveal the person Jongin has been all along.) 

Kris looks at them like a farmer appraising cattle in the market. Already, Jongin can feel his nostril’s flaring. 

“My most promising students,” Baekhyun continues with a twinkle in his eye. It makes Jongin feel—almost—better. “Not just of this bunch, but of quite some time.”

The stone comes flying at Jongin, and without thinking he reaches for the air surrounding it and __pulls,__ and the word for __push__ comes to his mind right after, sending the rock flying back towards Kris. 

The sorcerer catches it calmly in his palm, like Jongin had just merely tossed it to him. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just slightly. 

“Well then, Kai, Sehun, it’s lovely to meet your acquaintance. Tell me, have you ever heard the name EXO before?” 

  


-

  


Kyungsoo wakes facing Jongin, two halves of the moon facing each other, their legs slotted together at the knees. The sun is rising, too, the early morning light filtering through the canvas of Jongin’s enchanted tent. 

Jongin is beautiful all the time—that is a simple fact of the universe, like the rules of magic. But here in this golden lighting he’s beautiful in a different way. Softer, more human, though Jongin would scoff at ever being compared that way. 

Kyungsoo loves him. 

The knowledge of this is crushing. Yet this too is as undeniable as the daily rising and falling of the sun. The torrent has already pulled him in—fighting against the current is useless. 

He glides his fingers across Jongin’s knuckles, curving his calloused fingers around Jongin’s pristine ones. Despite being a mutant, witchers scar. Sorcerers do not. It is just another piece of mystery that adds up to the Jongin enigma, that Kyungsoo cannot read his scars like bard-chronicles as Jongin can do for him. 

__I would do anything for you,__ Kyungsoo mouths, too much of a coward to even whisper it. __If only you would ask.__ Next to him, Jongin snoozes on, unaware of the power he holds. How many people would give kingdoms to have a witcher tied around their finger like this? The price of it could empty coffers. Could topple a keep. 

Jongin blinks awake in pieces. Kyungsoo indulges in every moment of his waking, as he does when he savours a sunrise when travelling alone. First his fingers tighten around Kyungsoo’s, thumb rubbing circles around worn knuckles. Movement ripples through Jongin’s body, from those fingers and down to where their legs intermingle. Finally, Jongin blearily blinks his eyes open. 

The sorcerer’s expression folds into one of quiet happiness. Kyungsoo’s own expression barely changes, but he knows Jongin can also read him well enough to catch the shift. It’s only in the morning that they get to have moments like these, where it seems like the entire world is holding its breath. They’re worth cherishing. 

Then Jongin’s smile slides into something more feline. He rolls smoothly to be on top of Kyungsoo, his knees bracketing his hips. The linens have fallen off Jongin’s shoulder but it’s no loss, not when it exposes swaths of Jongin’s beautiful, golden skin. 

“Hello,” Jongin breathes. His hair sticks out in all directions, stubbornly defying the laws of the universe. 

“Good morning,” Kyungsoo replies. They have a long day ahead of them, long roads to travel and secrets that won’t show themselves without a fight, but this is an objectively good way to start. 

Jongin dips down and brushes his lips over the scar on Kyungsoo’s face, trailing over it softly before planting a sure kiss on his brow bone. It’s sweet and gentle, but it’s at odds with the growing hardness Kyungsoo feels grinding against his stomach.

There’s nothing between. Kyungsoo can feel everything—could watch Jongin grind helplessly against his abdomen all morning if he wanted to. When he watches, Jongin always develops a delicious flush just above the base of his cock, a full body blush that betrays the confidence he wears around like heavy furs. 

“I’m still open,” Jongin says as Kyungsoo’s fingers creep towards the round curve of his ass. He dips a finger in, just to be certain, and sure enough Jongin is still slick from last night. They hadn’t even gone inside the tent for the first round—both of them desperate enough to go at it under the stars and nothing else. 

“Come here.” Jongin doesn’t need a hand on his nape to meet Kyungsoo for a kiss but he places one there anyways. He likes to pull Jongin against him, keep him there. 

Jongin sighs into Kyungsoo’s mouth when his cock slides in. It still feels so good, so tight, despite the previous night. Lately Jongin has been back on his quest trying to get local bards to write him songs about Kyungsoo’s dick, telling anyone who will listen that __yes,__ a witcher’s cock really is that big. 

Also memorable, Jongin once cursed an innkeeper's entire family for daring to sneak into Kyungsoo’s room while he was bathing to proposition him (the curse was reversed the next morning, after some strategic hair petting on Kyungsoo’s part). 

“Turn over—yes, like that.” Kyungsoo spoons Jongin from behind, bodies slotted together, made to fit. It’s a secret Kyungsoo is intent on taking to his grave, but he loves this position, because he loves being able to hold Jongin like this, to press his face into the crook of his neck and breathe in nothing but him. 

The angle doesn’t allow for a breakneck pace, but it’s morning anyways. The way Jongin arches against him in pliant acceptance is more and enough, and because Jongin is really something else, he crosses his own legs to make it good and tight for Kyungsoo. 

“Fuck honey,” he growls. Having just woken up in Jongin’s warm, comforting embrace, he’s not fully in control of his body. “Your little hole’s still so fucking tight.” The smell of sex hangs over his senses, makes it hard for him to think about anything other than this. 

“Wanna make it good for you,” Jongin purrs. He arches his back further, somehow, gaining just enough leverage to push himself back onto Kyungsoo’s cock properly. “Let me ride you.” 

“Fuck, ok.” Kyungsoo may love to cuddle Jongin, but there’s nothing comparable to the sight of Jongin straddling him, naked in all his glory with the beams of sun shining through his magically-enhanced tent. Everything about Jongin, from the dip of his collarbones, to his pert little nipples, and the lines of his hips, are gorgeous. And Kyungsoo doesn’t waste the opportunity by keeping his hands to himself. 

Jongin rides him properly, rolling his hips in smooth waves, one hand on Kyungsoo’s chest for balance. He grips his cock in the other, fisting himself tight and a little dry, just how he likes. Not once does he throw his head back in pleasure—he knows Kyungsoo likes to watch him, and Jongin __loves__ to be watched like this. 

“Should let you do this outside,” Kyungsoo eggs on, “out in the open where anyone can see. Prove how good you are for me.” 

“‘M good just for you,” Jongin answers. He dips in to steal a kiss, but Kyungsoo is fast enough on the chase to get another. 

“It’s true.” Kyungsoo pinches Jongin’s help, grinning at the little help he gets in response. “You’re a bit of a brat.” 

“Don’t insult me while I’m riding your cock.” 

Kyungsoo cocks a brow. He pulls Jongin down onto his dick deeper with hands on his hips. Tiny noises escape from his throat. “You like it. You like me calling you a brat. A whore. Don’t you?” 

Jongin flushes, from the base of his cock to his neck. He’s not a whore, not by a longshot, because Jongin is nothing less than a person someone (that someone being Kyungsoo) would topple an empire for. But here, like this, Kyungsoo knows he wants to hear it. 

Instead of a pinch, Kyungsoo slaps his ass this time. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Jongin moans. “Love being your whore.” 

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” Kyungsoo replaces Jongin’s hand on his cock with his own. The pleasure that runs through his body is visible—he can even feel it crackle in the air. “You know what good whores get? They get to come.” 

Kyungsoo fists Jongin’s cock until he’s spilling over, and even after, when his entire body is shaking from the overstimulation. They both know he can take more. The way Jongin clenches down borders on painful, and it doesn’t take much more than that, combined with the filthy sight of Jongin with cum and sweat on his belly, for Kyungsoo to come, too. 

Spent, Jongin returns to his place nestled at Kyungsoo’s side. They lie side by side on their backs, close enough their shoulders stay pressed together and rub with every panting breath. 

Lazily Jongin plays with Kyungsoo’s fingers, going so far as to suck one of the digits into his mouth and swirls his tongue across the finger pad. 

“We should get up,” Kyungsoo raises a brow. He can easily see the path Jongin is leading them down. “Bathe. Start the day. Good King Chanyeol depends on us.” 

“Mmmmh,” Jongin hums non committedly, still working his tongue around Kyungsoo’s fingers. King Chanyeol and his curse can wait, apparently. 

“Jongin,” he warns. 

Jongin comes off Kyungsoo's fingers with a lewd __pop.__ “What’s the matter, witcher? Can’t get it up a second time so soon?” 

Yes—this is exactly where Kyungsoo thought they’d end up. Well. It would be a shame not to fully utilize these sheets Jongin went through so much trouble to enchant, wouldn’t it? 

Jongin actually has the audacity to laugh when Kyungsoo flips him onto his stomach easily. But it’s cut off when Kyungsoo slides in again, growing fully hard once more inside the tight clutch of Jongin’s body. It’s easy for him to get hard again; he’ll always want Jongin like this. 

“Oh, oh,” Jongin gasps helplessly. His fingers clench into the sheets, body jerking with sensitivity, and so Kyungsoo gives him one of his own to hold onto. He’s so wet, so filthy, that this round is an easy, slow grind. Kyungsoo has witcher stamina, but it’s the noises Jongin is making more than anything that pushes him closer and closer to a second orgasm. 

Jongin presses his face against the sheets and whimpers into them, until Kyungsoo tucks his head bad with a hand gripping his hair. “Sweetheart,” he croons, “there’s no one for miles. I want to hear you.” Of course, Jongin doesn’t disappoint. Kyungsoo grinds in again, inescapably deep, rubbing against all of Jongin’s sensitive parts, and this time he cries out loudly. And again, after that. 

“Is it too much,” Kyungsoo whispers, low in Jongin’s ear. It’s meant to humiliate Jongin, and it does—the sorcerer moans again and tightens around Kyungsoo, to the point where it’s nearly painful. “Is my cock too much for you?” 

“It’s so big,” Jongin cries. 

Kyungsoo nips at his ear. He continues his slow pace, knowing it’s driving Jongin crazier and crazier. “Thought you wanted bards to write songs about it. Sweetheart, honey, how are you going to do that when you can barely take it.” 

“I can,” Jongin begs. His ass pushes back insistently. “I can take it. Kyungsoo, please.”

“After you’ve already come once,” Kyungsoo punches in sharp, stealing the breath right from Jongin’s lungs. “Greedy. So greedy.”

“I am! I am greedy. Give me more, I want it.” 

Kyungsoo’s hips pick up their pace. They’re both so close, the second round sloppier and more hectic than the first. Jongin is still so wet, and his body feels perfect around Kyungsoo, so absolutely perfect, and the noises he makes from his mouth and from his little hole are better than any dirty dream. Better than any fantasy. Any magic. 

Jongin nearly screams when Kyungsoo comes in him (again), before choking on his own breath as he comes himself. 

Laying down beside him, Kyungsoo says, “we really do need to get ready now.” Jongin still lies with his face pressed into the sheets. 

“How am I supposed to walk around the countryside now?” he mumbles, barely audible through a mouthful of linen. “You destroyed my ass.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, love.” Kyungsoo hoists himself out of bed, and without looking, knows that Jongin is smiling to himself. “Now get that pretty ass up.” 

  


Their quest takes them north, following the rumors of EXO. Jongin has his doubts—he believes that it’s nothing more the hearsay, that these people are just using EXO for their reputation to be taken more seriously. 

“But the curse __is__ serious,” Kyungsoo points out, to which Jongin is forced to agree. 

Despite its relevance, Jongin remains tight-lipped on the subject of EXO. It’s—Kyungsoo has his curiosities, of course, and the knowledge that there’s missing information gnaws away at him. But if Jongin doesn’t believe something is important enough to share, then Kyungsoo trusts him enough not to ask. But it’s a tenuous balance to maintain. 

Fortunately, Sehun was able to point them in the right direction, so north they go. The cooler air eases his anxiety somewhat; it will always remind him of home. And Kyungsoo is even more familiar with the monsters and beasts of the area, making gathering ingredients simpler. He has them stocking up on the most common curse-breaking supplies—best be prepared as soon as they discover exactly what they need. 

“Where do we go if we don’t hear anything of EXO?” Jongin asks one day, a calm one. They’re riding along on Pepper, and haven’t passed another living soul since two miles back on the road. 

“We keep going north,” Kyungsoo says. He’s been thinking about this, as a matter of fact. “We can go to Kaer Seren, and visit the library there. Mins—my teacher may be able to help us. Should you contact yours?” 

Jongin presses his forehead into Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Baekhyun and I aren’t on the best of terms, as uh, as Sehun implied. And he and EXO—he’d have my head if I came to him asking about that of all things.” 

“Did he fight against them?” Jongin hums something in response. Kyungsoo assumes it means yes. 

Their route takes them through a bustling port town on the river. It’s as good a place as any to hunt down rumors, and besides, has all the creature comforts of home. Even with Jongin’s enchantments, there’s nothing quite like a warm bath under a dry, sure roof.

Jongin laughs as soon as they enter their chosen tavern for the night. From across the room, a head perks up at the sound. 

“Jongdae! You utter bastard.” Soon, they’re joined by the man in question, a bard dressed in soft purples and with three instruments slung over his shoulder. He and Jongin greet each other like old friends—which they very well might be. 

“Kyungsoo,” he introduces himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“We haven’t,” Jongdae says pleasantly, “but I know all about who __you__ are. Who else do you think Jongin can convince to write songs about your—” Jongdae looks down pointedly, “certain regions.” 

Jongin cackles at this. “I adore you, Jongdae. What are you doing here?” 

“The same as anyone else,” the bard shrugs. “Making a living. Fishing for information. Doing some actual fishing—the trout are quite good here. The question I should be asking, however, is what __you__ two are doing here.” 

“We’re looking for—ah, Jongdae, let’s go in here, shall we?” Not that Jongin gives the bard much of a choice; the sorcerer herds him into a private room without giving time for protests. Jongin takes a deep breath before continuing, “we’re looking for EXO. Or someone who may be calling themselves that.” 

Shock covers Jongdae’s face, and his eyes dart back and forth from Kyungsoo to Jongin. “EXO?” He sounds incredulous. “Jongin, you’re joking around, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Jongin sighs. “Listen, have you heard anything? A shadowy group of magic users, name or no name?” 

“Well,” Jongdae chews over his words. “There’s been no whispers of EXO, but there is one thing you may find helpful. There’s been a series of killings and mutilations up and down the coastline. The local superstition is that it’s some kind of beast but...” 

“But?” Kyungsoo pushes. 

Jongdae sighs. “It really could be nothing. But what __I’ve__ heard from a court mage and a dwarf trader, separately, is that the killings have marks of magic all over them.” 

It makes sense. “The curse we’re trying to break would need a significant amount of energy and materials to cast. Thank you for—”

“What are you holding back?” Jongin asks. He’s staring at Jongdae with a rare, intense look. The bard cringes and tries to escape from the pressure of it, and looks like he wants to squirm straight out of his skin. 

“There was a witcher, too, that was killed,” Jongdae coughs up, very purposefully looking at the floor instead of Kyungsoo. 

It’s not like his blood runs cold. He doesn’t suddenly become lightheaded, or filled with terror. It’s just that Kyungsoo, more than anything, is __surprised.__ Shocked, even. It takes more than a harmless cult to take down a witcher. Their opponent is just as powerful as they’ve suspected. 

“Do you know where they took the body?” He asks simply. Whoever this witcher is—and Kyungsoo doubts it's someone from his own school—he should at least try and take their sign back to their keep if it still stands. 

Jongdae shakes his head in apology. “There are s lot of people who’d like to get their hands on the body of a witcher.” 

Kyungsoo can imagine. Isn’t it enough that they’re experimented on in life? Perhaps he won’t even be allowed rest when he’s dead. 

“It’s a place to start,” Jongin says. He looks at Kyungsoo. “We should head that way in the morning. For now, Jongdae, won’t you let me fill your stomach with the best this ratty inn has to offer? I’ve got some incredible new ideas for you.” 

Kyungsoo follows them, a step behind. He follows the way Jongin’s arm curves over the bard’s shoulder, the genuine glint of glee in his eye. Jongin does not make a habit seeking company with trustworthy people, but it’s nice, at least, to have friends. 

Later, Kyungsoo leaves Jongin sleeping in bed. If he can get some rest, he deserves it. Instead of doing the same for himself, he makes his way downstairs, where there are still some embers burning in the hearth. Like he suspected, the only person there is Jongdae, his mandolin in his lap, looking deeply into the coals. The witcher joins him in silence. 

“I did not expect a bard to be so quiet. Or tight-lipped.” The corner of Jongdae’s mouth twitches up—Kyungsoo can see why Jongin would like this man. 

“There are many things people do not suspect of me,” he answers. “There are things you, too, believe I’m holding back.” 

“What do you know about EXO?” 

Jongdae gives him a curious look. “Less than Jongin, surely. Unless... Jongin hasn’t told you about them.” 

“He hasn’t.” But Kyungsoo is now thinking that he should have. 

Jongdae sighs, deep and longsuffering. “Oh, Jongin. Well, I’ll tell you something. EXO was a powerful group of mages that rebelled against the Order, you could say. They advocated for some very strong political opinions.” 

“Such as?” 

There’s that sigh again. “Their primary position was the belief that the magic of humans and elves couldn’t exist in the Sphere together—I’m not a sorcerer, not by a long shot, so I don’t know what all of the talk of chaos and balance means. But EXO felt that if the Order wanted human magic to continue existing, they should wipe out the remaining elves.” 

Something uneasy stirs in Kyungsoo. Of the many possibilities swirling in his mind, this hadn’t been one of them. 

It’s quite the unsavory stance. There are plenty of people who hold something close to it, especially humans in high ranks, but it’s genocide. Simple as that. And to do it all in the name of magic—it makes sense that Jongin is jumpy around the topic. And involving internal politics, too—it may have been a very messy fight. 

Kyungsoo goes back upstairs, and for a long time, just lays in bed next to Jongin, watching the soft and steady rise of his chest, the ways his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreams. Maybe tonight, there won’t be nightmares. He hopes that’s the case—Jongin deserves a good night’s rest, for a change. 

In the morning, they head off after eating breakfast with Jongdae, the bard singing them a merry goodbye song that has Jongin cackling and Kyungsoo pretending not to laugh. He doesn’t mention the conversation he had with Jongdae. 

They ride throughout the day, picking up directions as they pass from traders and farm’s people. Many people have heard tales of the dead witcher, and are happy to point them in the right direction in exchange for gossip and small pieces of coin. 

“The dead beast? Aye, I know it,” a man peddling turnips on a bridge croaks. Kyungsoo’s eye twitches, and Jongin turns his laugh into a cough. “In fact, you’re close to the place it happened.” 

“Could you give us more specific directions?” Jongin probes. “You’ve seen this place yourself?” 

“Course I have,” the man says gruffly. “It’s by the old watchtower. Down by the stream the path takes a turn to follow the moraine—it’ll be that way.” 

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo grumbles, pushing Pepper ahead without sparing a second glance. 

“Hush,” Jongin whispers in his ear, light and playful. His fingers tickle Kyungsoo’s sides. “An old peasant man is no bother to you.” 

“He called that witcher a __beast,”__ Kyungsoo retorts. 

“He had no teeth.” Jongin presses a kiss to the back of his head. “As a general rule—do not listen to people without teeth.” 

The old watchtower is in a well shaded glade, surrounded by steep, rocky hillsides. 

“Ambush!” Kyungsoo hisses. He pushes Jongin off Pepper and out of the way, the arrow instead burying itself in his shoulder. Whoever they are, they’re good—he hadn’t been able to feel their presence until they were right on top of them, already too far forward into the trap to escape by any other means. 

Thankfully Jongin rolls quickly onto his knees from where he’d landed hard on his hip, but Pepper rushes out of sight. It’s no matter; when this is over, they’ll be able to find her again. 

He identifies their assailants as a group of shadows—and he feels the crackle of magic in the air. Jongin’s but not his alone. Mages? No, witches. A less refined kind of magic, one more imbued with chaos than Jongin’s neatly-pruned edges. 

The witches don’t play nice. They try to play tricks on their consciousness and perception, flitting in and out of the shadows to keep Kyungsoo and Jongin apart. 

Whoever this is, Kyungsoo gets the suspicion this trap has been laid specifically for them. They seem to know Jongin is a sorcerer himself, because it’s him they focus on, swiping at Kyungsoo from a distance to prevent him from getting too close to Jongin again. 

However, this tactic may have been all a distraction in itself. 

A shadow grasps at his ankle, pulling him back. It’s not just a physical restraint, but it also pulls on his consciousness, making him feel sluggish, dizzy. He wants to tell Jongin no, not to come closer, but he can’t seem to get the words out... 

Something hits him square in the chest.

“No!” 

He sees the spell that Jongin casts that has the shadows fleeing, feels the strong pulse of magic, but all he hears is a piercing ring, and beyond that, Jongin calling out for him. He doesn’t even feel it when his back hits the ground. Reality is phasing in and out, but there is one thing to be happy about—Jongin’s face, so close to his, his hands cupping Kyungsoo’s. 

“—soo,” he’s saying. Wouldn’t it be nice if Kyungsoo could kiss the worries off those lips? If only, if only. A little more time, one more kiss. 

This might be it. Huh. He’s been waiting to die for so long. And now, he finds he’s not ready. All the gods in the heavens above, they sure are a load of bastards. 

  


-

  


He comes to in a memory. It seems like a memory, at least, because these are the walls of his childhood and adolescent years. The same smells, the same crimson bedding that always runs too warm, even on the coldest winter nights. 

Kaer Seren. He’d know this place anywhere, even in death. 

Though, he supposes, he’s not dead. That in itself is something of a pleasant surprise. It begs the question, though—where is Jongin? 

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” a voice murmurs at his bedside. Kyungsoo’s neck protests fiercely when he tries to turn it, and the body moves into his line of sight when they see him struggling. There’s no guessing who it is. 

“Apparently,” Kyungsoo coughs. Very little of him feels __alive__ right now. Minseok smiles gently at him, far too giving for what a witcher ought to show. 

“You had your sorcerer in quite the hysterics when you showed up. He dragged you through a portal like a sack of potatoes.” 

“Is he—”

“Sleeping himself, most likely. That kind of travel is a special feat. He even brought your horse.” 

“It’s his specialty.” Kyungsoo winces when something in his side pulls. His body is putting itself back together. It’s not a very pleasant sensation. 

“So it’s true,” Minseok comments. “You two are very endearing. You even brag about him.” 

“That’s very patronizing, coming from you.” He’s far from in the mood for a lecture on the dubious advantages of attachments as a witcher. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Minseok says lightly. “He’s kept you alive all these years away from us. He brought you here today when you needed it, too.” 

Kyungsoo isn't fooled for a second. Minseok doesn’t praise people. He thinks praise weakens the will. “You still disapprove of him.” 

“You’re far from a child anymore, Kyungsoo,” Minseok replies diplomatically. “You all say I have a long reach, but it doesn’t extend that far. You’re going to continue to do whatever it is you want to; remember that I still have more experience than you, brat, and I know when to pick and choose my battles.” 

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “He is important to me.” 

If they were anyone else, perhaps Minseok would reach across the divide between them and hold Kyungsoo’s hand in his. Maybe he would stroke the soft skin behind Kyungsoo’s ear. But they aren’t those people, and never have been. You won’t find any gestures of affection here. 

“Feeling good enough to walk?” Minseok asks instead. 

__No,__ Kyungsoo’s body immediately groans. But now that he’s awake, there’s no way he can just stay in bed. Not while Jongin is here and worrying himself up and down the walls. “Yes. Give me a hand?” 

After Minseok helps him up, and makes sure he’s not about to fall over, he kindly points Kyungsoo in the right direction of Jongin and then goes off in the opposite direction. They’ll do more catching up later; the promise of that is there without having to verbalize it. 

What did Jongin do after Kyungsoo fell to darkness? Did he know—instinctively—that this would be the best place to take him? He wonders if he’s seen any of Kaer Seren, walked the halls that Kyungsoo and other witchers have walked, or if he slept along with Kyungsoo. 

Oh, and there he is, standing in the window, one of the ones Kyungsoo had scrubbed plenty of times as a child. The ocean fog coming through the window is biting, but Jongin doesn’t move. The tip of his nose is red. The force of Kyungsoo’s affection for him nearly knocks him over. 

“Close the window,” he says. Jongin jumps, his beautiful face turning from surprise to palpable relief. “You’ll get a cold.” 

Jongin sniffs. “That’s just an old-wives’ tale.” He ignores the window, and instead, falls into Kyungsoo’s arms. “You really scared me,” he mumbles into the witcher’s chest. His body aches with the effort it takes to hold Jongin up, but he won’t complain. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t apologize. It’s nothing more than a nice platitude—Kyungsoo will continue to scare Jongin, and continue to get hurt, because that’s what he does. If he started apologizing now, his line of work would dictate doing so every day for the rest of his life. 

Instead, all he does is wrap his arms tighter around Jongin, pulls their bodies in closer until there’s none of that cold air between them. 

“I know,” he says. He hopes it’s enough. “Have you seen the library? Minseok said you’ve been sleeping.” 

Jongin shakes his head. “I’ve just been sleeping. And wandering around, I suppose. No one seems very interested in talking to me here.” 

Kyungsoo takes his hand. “Then let's bring you to the library.” 

The way Jongin’s entire body lights up when he sets his sights on the cavernous library of Kaer Seren is the kind of beautiful thing Kyungsoo wishes he could relive everyday. It makes him fall in love with him all over again. 

Jongin’s excitement is more than obviously—it’s visible. Though he doesn’t seem the type, like most mages, Jongin has a talent and a voracious appetite for consuming knowledge. The more one knows about magic and the world around them, the more powerful they are. Kyungsoo has just delivered him a precious gift. 

“Should I leave you to it?” Kyungsoo asks, amused. Jongin snaps to him with a gleam in his eye. 

“Don’t you dare,” he says, reaching for Kyungsoo’s waist to reconnect their bodies once more. “This deserves a reward.”

  


For the majority of his life, Kyungsoo feared Minseok’s study. It was a place of reprimand, where Minseok brought them bad news. Now, though, he’s able to sit across the desk with both feet firmly on the floor. Without the shadows of fear, sitting here is a very civil affair. 

Minseok even serves biscuits. They’re delicious. 

They’re pouring over a map of the continent, and Aedirn, when there’s a soft rasp on the door. Kyungsoo expects it to be one of the younger witchers, perhaps even an apprentice, but when the door opens he’s surprised to find Jongin fidgeting in the doorway.

“Come in,” Minseok gestures, but Jongin still lingers awkwardly in the void between in and out. Since coming to Kaer Seren, Jongin has kept to himself and Kyungsoo. He doesn’t wish to keep company with other witchers, though the reason for this has yet to be revealed to Kyungsoo. 

“I’ve been in the library,” Jongin says from across the room. He holds up a decrepit leather tome. The book is much smaller and thinner than Kyungsoo would expect for something holding the answers to all of his current problems. 

“You’ve discovered something about the curse?” 

“Yes,” Jongin says, eyes lingering on Minseok. He offers up nothing further.

“Let me go check on the training.” Minseok rises, despite the room being __his__ office. “Please, stay here and discuss.” 

“You can trust him, you know,” Kyungsoo says once the elder witcher is gone and the two of them are alone. He speaks with amusement in his voice, but truthfully, he’s disappointed in how uncomfortable Jongin appears to be in Kaer Seren. Kyungsoo himself feels lighter than he has in years. 

__“You__ can trust him,” Jongin says. He sits across from Kyungsoo at a distance that says __colleagues__ instead of __lovers.__

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Nothing,” Jongin mutters. 

“It obviously isn’t. You’ve been like this for days.” 

“Your friends don’t like mages like me.” Insecurity? Jongin? It’s an ill-matched, bitter combination. 

“And what could they know,” Kyungsoo says, eyes boring Jongin’s, “about a mage like you?” Jongin’s shoulders relax just a fraction. “I know all I need to know.” 

“I’d like to leave soon,” Jongin’s mouth twists in the way it always does when he’s anxious. “You. If you want to, you can stay. I can go back to Aedirn and take care of the curse alone.” 

“Do you want that to happen?” Kyungsoo doubts this is truly what Jongin wants. Instead what he’s saying is misplaced kindness. Jongin shakes his head, nothing more than a single jerk to the side. “Then don’t suggest it. Kaer Seren has stood for centuries and will continue to for centuries more. There’s time for me to return, and time for me to be with you. Now tell me what you’ve learned.” 

From what Jongin has read, the curse on King Chanyeol is, essentially, magical blackmail. It slowly eats away at the health and lifeforce of the victim, gradually growing in intensity, until the person who has cast the curse gets what they want. 

“So we need to find the caster.” That doesn’t bode well for the King—they’re no closer to finding EXO than when they ran into Jongdae. 

“Not necessarily.” Jongin points to something in the text. “This suggests there’s a magical work-around, essentially a curse that works against the curse. It’s not a cure per-say, but it will counteract the damage being done.” 

“But it’s not a cure,” Kyungsoo says. “What’s stopping this current group coming after the King again? It seems Sehun hasn’t been wonderful at protecting him.” 

Jongin furrows his brow. “We still don’t know who cast the curse. All magic leaves traces, but it would be difficult to set up a tracking spell for something so old.” 

“Don’t we know, though? It seems clear it’s this EXO group, perhaps trying to regain their past prominence.”

“Why do you insist on saying it’s them?” Jongin snaps, suddenly on edge again. 

“Their symbol is __on__ the King’s body,” Kyungsoo retorts with equal weight. 

“I __can’t__ have been EXO, I’m telling you. Why don’t you believe me?” 

“Why can’t you tell me why you’re so sure.” 

Jongin chokes. An immense emotion ripples through his body, so strong it’s visible in its journey. “Everyone who was in EXO is dead. Or—accounted for,” he says. “I know because I was __in__ EXO, Kyungsoo. I was there. There’s no true member of EXO who could’ve done this.” 

“Did—did Sehun know this?” 

Jongin nods, confirming Kyungsoo’s suspicion. “Of course he knew. He was part of it, too. Our teacher, Baekhyun, inducted us. We’re—the three of us are the only ones left. I had a different name, once, that I had to cast aside. Baekhyun is forbidden to leave Aretuza.”

“And Sehun?”

Jongin smiles wryly. “Our—Kris, the leader of EXO, was able to get him off easy. The two of us were just barely out of apprenticeship.” 

“And Kris is dead now.” 

“Yes. He is.” 

Jongin shudders as the memory overtakes him. All at once, he begins to tell Kyungsoo the entire wretched story. 

  


-

  


“The red hair suits you, kid,” Tao tells him. Annoyingly, though, he still ruffles Kai’s hair when he does so. The hair, much like the name, and nearly everything else about Kai, is still new. The Ascendancy ceremony is still fresh in his bones. __Everything__ is still new. 

“Who knows when it will grow old on you though,” Luhan chimes in. With a flick of his wrist, Tao sends a plate flying towards his head. 

“I can always change it,” Kai reminds them. He still feels nervous stepping between them, wary of taking sides in even frivolous arguments. This, too, is new. 

EXO is everything Kai could have dreamed of—the elder mages are astonishing, so powerful and respected. Of course Kai already knew that about Baekhyun, and Kris to an extent, but the other three members in Luhan, Tao, and Yixing are fearsome in their own rights. To think that they even wanted Kai and Sehun to join them in the first place makes his heart flutter like a prepubescent teen. 

But everyday, Kai is reminded that they __are__ wanted here, and that they’re important to EXO’s mission. Kai and Sehun can help convince the younger generation of mages in EXO’s ethos. 

He doesn’t understand why everyone isn’t making a bigger deal of it; it’s as Kris explained to them back the first day he met Kai and Sehun—the balance of chaos is tipping dangerously to one side, and the magic of humans and elves are competing against each other, clashing dangerously. If they don’t do something about it, then __everyone’s__ magic will be gone. 

It’s unfortunate about the elves, but Baekhyun says they refuse to negotiate. And besides which, Kris says they have thousands of years of bloody history on their hands, and have wiped out entire races on their own before humans entered the Sphere. If anyone deserves to lose their magic, it’s them. 

The Council of Mages likes to grumble that EXO’s mission is simply to destroy the elves out of some deep-seated prejudice and hatred. But that’s not true at all. Kai’s never even __met__ an elf. This is about self-preservation, and the mages who don’t support them are just accelerating their own downfall. EXO is trying to protect magic, not start a needless, bloody war like some of their detractors like to claim. 

They’ve been making great progress. Their symbol is gaining more recognition, and when Kai goes off into the world, he sees it more and more. If only the Council would come along, too. 

Sure, others do have blood on their hands. It’s necessary, Kris reminds them. They try to avoid violence where they can, but with elves, it’s not always possible. He believes they’re training him for these kinds of missions, because despite appearances, Sehun has a softer heart. 

Although he does not think of it, already he knows his actions have resulted in deaths. But the less elves there are, the less opposition stands between him and his future. 

Personally, Kai is simply glad he’s able to be on the correct side since the beginning. He’s been accepted into this exclusive group, and one day, their vision will be realized, and everyone will see the world for what it truly is. 

Kris has called them all to this place—on the outside it takes the appearance of an abandoned castle far off in the woods, but on the inside it’s cozy and warm—because he’s planning something big. He hasn’t said anything, but they all can feel it. It’s rare that the seven of them can ever be in the same place at the same time. Often, there’s so much work for EXO to do that they can’t afford to be. 

It’s good to see everyone again. It feels—it feels like family coming back together, a foreign a concept as Kai has ever known. He has never thought about his family before with warm and fuzzy feelings. Thoughts of revenge? Now, maybe. 

But here, he looks forward to dinner, sitting next to Sehun and across from Yixing, bantering with the group in a way that is genuinely friendly and hiding no ulterior motive. That was often the case when he was studying at Aretuza.

The food, as always, is delicious. There was a time, already getting further and further away in his memory, when he could not imagine food being this delicious. But now he lives a different life. He is a different person. 

The conversation flows in pace with the wine. Everyone today is in a good mood, even Sehun, even Kris. Shockingly, their stoic leader even laughs when Baekhyun teases him. It’s not until the desert course arrives do things settle down. 

They’ve all come here—been asked to come here—for a reason, after all. 

Baekhyun and Kris share a meaningful look. The goals that drive EXO always come from them. Kris sets his silverware down with deliberate intention. 

“We’ve located the Mirror,” he announces without preamble. All of them jump to attention, and Baekhyun doesn’t try to hide his grin now. 

“You don’t mean...” Yixing says in wonder. 

“Yes. I truly do. Gentlemen, our time has come faster than we could have imagined. The future is already at our doorstep.” 

The Mirror of Flowering is an ancient elvish artifact, something that’s said to be able to reveal the physical appearance of magic and chaos, two things that are invisible forces in the world, and the things as mages they tap into. As Kris and Baekhyun’s centuries in development research also states, the Mirror will also show the imbalance of human and elvish magic. 

Then, using the Mirror, they will cast a spell that will bounce back through the Mirror and destroy elvish magic. 

They know the elves will die—all of them. Whether they will die immediately or wither away slowly is unknown, but is that not what is happening now? Humans, without the power of magic, are choking elves out of this world year after year already. 

“All this time, it’s been held by a small elvish village, in a small cave in the mountain above. It’s a sacred spot to them, a well kept secret,” Baekhyun explains. “Our next goal is to plan a mission to this village. It will be guarded, but we are better than they are.” 

“This mirror is a nearly forgotten artifact, but it holds the key to our plans. You all have been instrumental in giving EXO a name and reputation. We’re gaining more support, but with this, we won’t have to ask anyone to become a soldier.” 

“We’d be up for a war, though,” Tao says with a feral grin. __War__ is an ugly word that Kai crunches his nose at, but he can’t say he disagrees entirely with the sentiment. 

“We will end things before they truly begin,” Kris says with an air of finality. 

“The elves are a formidable foe,” Baekhyun reminds them. “This is the result of all the research we’ve done. It’s better this way.”

“A toast,” Kris raises his goblet. “To the future. May we save us all.” 

  


Oh, how things could go so wrong so quickly. 

  


“Yixing is dead,” Sehun says, looking not at Kai, but through him. 

“What?” Kai says weakly. Immediately, he thinks of Yixing, his kind smile, his guidance, his quiet mannerisms. He can’t be dead—Sehun must have made a mistake. There’s no way, no way at all—

But Sehun has blood on his fingers, glossy and nearly black in the low light of the cave. There’s more on his front, almost indistinguishable from the soot coming from the burning village outside. 

“Yixing is dead,” Sehun repeats, hollow. “I left the front line. I didn’t want to stay there. I could—” his voice breaks and finally, trambles. “See him. I didn’t want to look at him anymore.” 

“We should go back,” Kai suggests, even though he himself doesn’t want to. It’s what they __should__ do, he thinks, trying to put himself in the place of Tao, or Baekhyun, or Yi— “No, come on. We’ll go find Kris, deeper in the cave. Sehun, come on.” 

They make their way, Kai’s magic guiding them and Sehun lagging behind. Tao and Luhan are also outside—what’s happened to them? As soon as Baekhyun and Kris sensed the magic and the fighting, they’d sent Kai out of the cave to investigate, but he’d run into Sehun at the entrance. All he knew was that the village was burning. People were screaming. It was a horrible noise. 

Together they stumble into the chamber holding the mirror. Baekhyun and Kris will know what to do. And besides, they already have the mirror in their possession, they can fix this, end the imbalance of chaos—

“Kris, Kris, get up,” Baekhyun is pleading softly. The sight makes Kai stop in his tracks, and Sehun collides with his back because of it. The mirror is broken, shattered into pieces. Kris is on his knees in front of it, his hands bleeding from the shards, like he’d punched it himself. Baekhyun’s head shoots up to meet them. 

“Kids,” he says, a warning and a question all at once. 

“Yixing is dead,” Kai blurts out. A pained grimace comes over Baekhyun’s face, but it’s Kris’ reaction that shocks Kai to his core. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the once-proud man mutters. “We’ll all be dead soon. The Council has to be on their way, if the elves don’t kill us first.” 

“Kris, what are you saying?” Kai asks. Fear rapidly claws its way up his chest, tearing into his lungs like freezing air. 

“It was all bullshit,” he spits. Finally, he rises out of his crouch. Their leader’s eyes are bloodshot. 

“Kris—”

“Save it, Baekhyun. Tell yourself whatever you want, but we were wrong. There’s nothing there. No imbalance of chaos.” He breathes in a wet inhale, “this whole thing was all for nothing.” 

“Stay here and die then,” Baekhyun snaps. “What’s done is done. We have right now to worry about.” In the lowest moment, when Kai can feel everything slipping away, Baekhyun straightens his back. He strides towards Kai and Sehun and grabs both of their arms. “You two, with me. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” 

  


Yixing and Luhan don’t get burials, or ceremonies, or remembrances. In fact, the Council and the rest of the magical world would like to pretend they never existed. 

Kai lies in his bed at Aretuza, a private room. A cell, in practice. He tries very hard not to think of the village, and the spells he’d set up, and the screams. There were children there, probably. Families. He tries not to think about all the times before that, when he sent elves to their deaths without a second thought. 

He fails. 

All of it, for nothing. 

Being alive isn’t even a solace. That day, Baekhyun got them out of the cave and the village, and brought them straight to the last place Kai would have expected—Aretuza, and the mercy of the Council. It saved their lives. Baekhyun will spend the rest of his life confined to Aretuza, though the dogma he teaches to the next generation will be closely watched. Formally, Kai and Sehun will have never belonged to EXO. They’ll go to their placements quietly and obey. 

Yixing and Luhan died in the village. Tomorrow, Kris and Tao are going to be executed—Kai got to see them again, one last time, and it took a strength he thought had left him for him not to cry. 

Kai’s also decided to leave this name behind. He’ll change his hair, too, just like Tao had suggested. It’ll be like shedding his skin, a snake emerging fresh into the world. 

One day, EXO will be dead for good, and he’ll be free of this cursed memory. 

  


-

  


Silence sets in, heavy. Oppressive. Jongin swipes away a stray tear from the corner of his eye. 

“I’m a monster, you see,” he says with sincerity. He has felt this way about himself, always, all the time Kyungsoo has known him. “I’ve done monstrous things. I don’t deserve your praise, of your—” he chokes, “love.”

“You’re—” but Kyungsoo stops himself. He cannot bring himself to lie to Jongin, and isn’t that what he would be doing? The things Jongin was complicit in, the things he himself __did__

“You’ve fought enough monsters to know one. I’ve hid it well, but now you know. It would be the silver sword for me.” 

“I would never,” Kyungsoo swears. “I __could__ never.” 

“If we had been on opposite sides of the village, you would have fought me. You would have killed me. We—we killed innocent people that day. We killed innocent people before then, all in the name of this mission, this goal. What’s worse is that we thought we were right for doing it. There’s no excuse for that, not even love. Don’t pretend it’s not true. Those words won’t hold any comfort for me.” 

“Then I won't. But I won’t tell you you’re evil, either. I’ll never do that.” 

“Love makes you stupid,” Jongin says through his tears. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t reach out to hold his hand. “I accept that.” 

Jongin rubs furiously at his eyes. “Can we leave now? Really go?” He asks in a small voice. 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo nods. “Let’s go back to Aedirn. Let’s go make this all right.” 

  


-

  


Once is a ridiculous oversight for a witcher, but twice is no mere coincidence. 

Throughout their journey back to Aedirn, Jongin stays glued to Kyungsoos’ back on Pepper. They barely speak, but Kyungsoo is comforted by at least the solid weight of Jongin behind him and the warmth of the sorcerer’s head on his shoulder. 

He finds himself missing the days of Jongin's incessant chatter, but truly he is glad that Jongin is with him at all. He hadn’t run. Things had gotten difficult, but Jongin hadn’t run. He’d chosen to stay by Kyungsoo’s side. 

All roads on their journeys lead to inns and taverns it seems. Kyungsoo has known no home but this—but with Jongin, these transient places take on, somehow, that kind of quality. Home is where the heart is. It makes Kyungsoo gag. 

There is still an air of tension between them, but Jongin still pouts when Kyungsoo doesn’t kiss him and help him untie his clothes. They don’t fuck that night, but they do lie on the bed facing each other, palm resting in palm. 

“What do you want from the future?” Jongin whispers into the darkness. “Your life?” 

“I do not know,” Kyungsoo answers honestly. “I’ve never stopped to consider it. My life was supposed to be a fixed path.”

“Supposed to be?” Something sounding like hope. 

“Well. Something’s interrupted that plan. A welcome disruption.” 

For a moment, Kyungsoo thinks Jongin is going to tell him he loves him. But the silence says enough—they don’t need to. Kyungsoo can feel it. It falls asleep to it, drunk off the feeling. 

  


Kyungsoo goes from sleeping to waking in less than the snap of fingers. He’d been awoken by the vibrating on his griffin amulet, and that only meant one thing—danger. Without thinking his body launched itself out of bed, instincts and training allowing him to dodge the knife now buried in his pillow. 

If this assassin had been smart, they would have tried to get Kyungsoo out of range of his swords. But as it is now, and fortunately so, Kyungsoo swords are within an arm’s reach of the bed. He’ll just need a simple opening to get to them. 

The would-be assassin raises their daggers. With his sharp eyes, Kyungsoo narrows in on the fine tremble of their arms.

“Not so brave going up against a witcher now that they’re not sleeping in bed, now are you?” Kyungsoo goads. His plan works—the assassin comes lunging forward, still fast and dangerous, but Kyungsoo is even more ready that he was before, and no longer just acting on instinct alone. 

He dodges to the left, at the same time he grabs one of the assassin’s wrists and pulls them forward. Caught completely off balance, the assassin goes tumbling into the side of the bed, giving Kyungsoo an opening to lunge for his equipment. His hand closes around the hilt of his steel sword just as he senses the assassin coming back towards him for another attack. 

After that, the equation is simple. The assassin loses their advantage the moment their target becomes aware of them, and there’s no more dangerous target than a witcher. The assassin falls dead onto the floor in a single strike. 

Unfortunately, really. The inn will probably try to charge them extra for cleaning. He opens his mouth to tell this to Jongin, but it’s that moment that his mind catches up to everything. 

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo says into the empty room. Louder, on the edge of hysteria, “Jongin?” 

But Jongin isn’t in the room, or in the hall. He isn’t anywhere. He’s gone. 

  


Kyungsoo spends the morning searching frantically for Jongin. But, well, it’s as if the sorcerer has disappeared into thin air. Most of his supplies are gone, though some have been left behind. Did he go in a hurry? Taken by more assassins? The leads are few, and Kyungsoo grinds his teeth with frustration. 

Midday, he returns to the room at the inn, only to find Sehun there waiting for him. 

“Sehun!” Kyungsoo is on his feet even before he fully registers the other sorcerer's presence. His mind just immediately associates Sehun with Jongin. “Jongin is—” 

“Fine,” Sehun says curtly. “He arrived at the castle yesterday night.” 

Kyungsoo stops dead. The information simply refuses to process. Jongin is in Aedirn? Did he flee from the assassination attempt, then? But without trying to take Kyungsoo with him, or trying to alert him at all? These aren’t things that align with all he knows of Jongin.

“You’ve been helpful, witcher,” Sehun sneers, not at all the stoic, but still personable figure he was in Aedirn. He tosses a bag of gold onto the floor in front of Kyungsoo’s boots. “But your services are no longer needed. Jongin wanted you to know that.” 

“What have you done with him? What’s happened to Jongin?” Kyungsoo demands. There’s no possibility this is coming from Jongin himself. No—it’d be impossible. He refuses to believe. He tightens his fist, the leather groaning with the stretch. 

If it comes to a fight, he’ll fight. It’s what he knows. 

“Don’t tell me you’re finally having emotions,” Sehun laughs, a cruel note that stings deeper than Kyungsoo likes. “I must admit, I like you witcher, which is why I’ll tell you—you’ve been too naive. Please don’t think you’re the first person Jongin’s wrapped around his fingers, or his cock. And you won’t be the last. You’ve served your purpose—much obliged on the trip to Kaer Seren, by the way.” 

Kyungsoo thinks of Jongin’s very being lighting up at the sight of the library, and the hours he spent unsupervised there. No... it wouldn't be possible, would it? It just couldn’t be. 

Doubt is an insidious poison, and Kyungsoo’s been bitten. 

  


-

  


“Sehun?” Jongin is out of breath when he comes through the portal. The throne room in Aedirn is dark and empty, the candles out and the shadows casting long across the floor. There’s no sign of Sehun, or King Chanyeol, or the supposed emergency that Sehun had warned him about in his dream, so pressing it forced Jongin out of bed without even a moment to spare for Kyungsoo sleeping beside him.

Invading someone’s sleeping mind through their dreams is a great deal of effort to go through to contact someone. This kind of magic is Sehun’s specialty, but Jongin knows he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t believe it necessary. So where is he now? 

Fear, sudden in onset, grips his mind. Alone in the dark—it’s something only a child should be afraid of. 

“Jongin.” The sorcerer relaxes. The voice coming from behind him is Sehun’s. He hopes the other hasn’t noticed Jongin’s fear, or the way he breathes a sigh of relief, because otherwise he’d never hear the end of it. 

“You better have a good reason for pulling me out of bed so rudely,” Jongin says as he turns. By the time he’s shifted to face Sehun, the other sorcerer already has magic sparking between his palms. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says. The last thing Jongin thinks before he’s knocked unconscious is that at least Sehun looked guilty while he did it. 

  


-

  


The coven is waiting for him when he comes to. From where he collapsed on his side, Jongin can make out twelve figures in total, most of their faces shrouded behind dark hoods. Wherever he is, the rest of the room is dark, too, but it’s cold and damp. A cave, perhaps? 

Heavens above, Jongin has seen enough of caves, 

Behind his back, his hands are tied in tight knots, and he doesn't give when he strains against it. The rope feels like real twine, but he knows there must be some kind of enchantment on it. These are the witches—for that’s what they are, a coven of feral witches, he can smell it—who cursed Chanyeol, and managed to manipulate Sehun into getting him here. 

Sehun—if he ever sees him again, Jongin is going to kill him. He should have killed him back when they were in training and blamed it on one of their bullies. 

These are also the witches who burned EXO’s mark— _ _his__ mark, the audacity of it—into King Chanyeol’s skin. They’re no amateurs. 

If he gets the chance, Jongin is going to rip out their throats. 

The coven watches in silence as Jongin struggles to his knees, an embarrassing and challenging task without the use of his hands. Once positioned, Jongin can also better observe his surroundings. This place is indeed some sort of cave, or at the least an underground chamber carved of rough, black stone. There are no windows, no source of light except for the concentric rings of candles surrounding Jongin. Surrounding him are also a series of intersecting lines which catch the glint of the candlelight. 

The arrangement has all the makings of a serious ritual. That does not bode well for Jongin. 

One of the figures steps out of the circle and approaches him. They lower their hood and they’re revealed to be a female human, with a pale, gaunt face with dark spider veins tracking up the side of her face. One emotion is replaced with another—first, relief. This isn’t a person Jongin knows, or recalls ever seeing at all. Second, though, is confusion. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jongin tries his best to smirk, fighting down a wave of nausea. “My name is Jongin. What the fuck do you want with me?” 

“We know who you are,” the woman says coldly. “We know what you’ve done.” 

“I’ve done a lot, that doesn’t narrow things down much.” 

“We shall see how long your high spirits last.” 

“Ooh, ominous. I’m looking forward to it,” Jongin says, a pit forming in his stomach. The woman moves to return to the circle. “Hey!” he calls out. “What, you aren’t going to tell me your evil, insidious plan? Your clever crafting to get to this point? If you’re going to torture me, then at least let me know __why?”__

But the woman ignores him. 

The next thing Jongin knows is the pain. 

-

  


-

Kyungsoo crashes through the swamplands on a tear. He doesn’t know where his body is taking him, but his mind is far, far outside of himself. He is not in control of anything. And even if he were, he’s not certain he would __want__ to stop himself. 

Destruction comes easily. Comprehension is even more difficult. 

A Sign bursts to life and sends out a wave of damage from his palm. The trees are no match for such a force and they shatter and break as if a troll had come lumbering through. The water in the murky swamp pools flows onto the land. Before Kyungsoo is done, this entire place will be different. He’ll carve his emotions into the very landscape. 

The legend goes that witchers have had their emotions removed. This is far from the truth, but what is accurate is that witchers are taught to stamp their emotions down, ignore them. Such a skill is convenient for a professional monster hunter. 

Dealing with his emotions is not something Kyungsoo is practiced at. He spent far more time learning how to swing a sword. 

Jongin’s rejection of him now is—it’s more than heartbreaking. It’s devastating. Jongin is an actor. Jongin is a liar. Jongin lied to Kyungsoo about things, but never once did everything between them feel fake. And yet, that is exactly the truth, or else Sehun is lying. 

Either way, Jongin is gone, and Kyungsoo is alone with all of his emotions. 

After Sehun had taken his leave, Kyungsoo nipping at his heels all the way, his feet had driven him out of the inn, abandoning nearly all of his possessions. Only a lifetime of experience had him grabbing his swords on the way out.

From there, he body had taken over. All he wanted was to get __out,__ away from people, and the looks, and honestly out of the Sphere altogether. 

“Come out!” he roars to the quiet swamp, begging a monster to show itself. Please, give him something to kill. Give his itching hands something to do, a task to focus his fluttering mind on. “Come out and face me!” 

And thankfully, they do. Grotesque crabs, monstrous lizard humanoids, even massive snails find their way onto the end of Kyungsoo’s sword. Each time he throws himself into the battle without thought, allowing his muscle-memory to take over. Swing up here, sidestep there, roll, jab, slash, jab again, 

Dead, dead, dead. 

__Jongin could be dead._ _

No, Jongin just wanted to leave him. Jongin was lying to him. 

It’s all too much to think about. Find something else to fight, something else to kill. 

He goes and goes until his body gives out, and he collapses flat on the ground. The way the light filters in through the deep, lush green of the trees is beautiful. Comforting. Kyungsoo has seen so much of the continent. He has been dark places that held no fear for him, and bright throne rooms where he felt like a roach. 

Here, he doesn’t feel anything. And that’s a good thing, is it not?

-

  


-

Jongin rises through the haze again, the agony of— _ _whatever—__ being done to him fading. His eyes blink open, slowly, but they do, and he finds the woman from before once again standing before him. It’s difficult to see in the darkness, but now there is a soft pink miasma sitting over the floor like morning fog. 

“We will drain you of all that you have,” the woman says. 

“Oh, __now__ it’s time for your evil monologue.” Jongin winces. His chest constricts painfully, and his heart screams with pain when he tries to reposition himself to gain back a shred of his dignity. “So that’s what this is? You think you can drain my magic from me? It figures that you’re all witches with no proper training, then. If you had any you’d know that I only harness chaos. Magic doesn’t live __within__ me. Did you think I was a Source?” 

The woman laughs. It’s a startling sound, much like the squawking of crows. Jongin very much wishes to never hear it again. “Magic is not what we want from you. What we desire,” he gestures broadly to the miasma, and now that Jongin is paying closer attention to it, it smells strangely familiar, “is connection.” 

  


-

  


In his dreams, Jongin is there. It’s not surprising. Jongin has been in his life longer than many humans are even alive, thanks to their own extended lifespans. They’ve watched the world change together and changed it under their hands themselves. It’s no wonder Jongin is haunting him here, even if the Jongin in the waking world wants to be rid of him. 

But just because Jongin is there doesn’t mean that he’s happy as in Kyungsoo’s memories. No, in Kyungsoo’s dreams, his love is crying, thick tears falling down rosy and stained cheeks. 

“Don’t cry,” Kyungsoo tells him, wipes his tears away. “Shh, don’t cry.” 

Jongin sniffles. “I don’t want to wake up.” 

“Me neither.” 

“It hurts,” Jongin whispers. And oh, how Kyungsoo savors the way Jongin leans into his touch. To have Jongin’s soft cheek cradled in his palm is a joy. 

“What hurts, darling?” 

“Everything.” As Jongin speaks, his entire body shudders. Kyungsoo feels it as sure as he feels his own body. It’s even clearer than the touch of Jongin in his memory. 

“I’ll make it better,” Kyungsoo promises. In dreams, he allows himself promises he would otherwise never be able to make. 

“Please, I don’t know where I am. Come get me. Take me home.”

Behind him, Kyungsoo hears a sound—the opening and closing of a door. He swivels in the blank darkness, but there’s nothing there. When he turns back again, Jongin is gone, and there’s nothing between his hands at all. 

Gone, again. 

Although this land of his dreams has no boundaries, just empty blackness, Kyungsoo can still fall to his knees. To his surprise, the black runs away under his palm. He scrubs at it again and again, until he can make out what look like symbols carved into stone. 

Gradually under his fingers, the picture becomes clearer to him. What Kyungsoo kneels on is a slab of smooth granite, and what’s carved into it is a map.

  


Kyungsoo doesn’t have time to think through his entrance. Jongin is in danger. Jongin is in danger __right now__ and he has to stop it. 

He announces his entrance by sending a powerful Sign, lighting the first figure he sees, clouded in darkness, up in a blaze. He finds himself in a large, open room, the terminus of the underground cave the map told him to follow. The map that was seared into his mind the moment he woke up from his dream. 

Along with the person currently on fire, the room is populated by several more, along with dozens of candles and a heavy pink fog.

“The witcher!” one of the figures hisses, and they scatter. Kyungsoo’s body moves a split second before his mind does, and by then, he already has one of the witches run through with his sword. They shriek with an unearthly sound that rattles around in Kyungsoo’s head. 

From there, it’s a brawl, one which Kyungsoo executes with a single-minded focus. These people have harmed Jongin. That alone is enough for Kyungsoo to indict them all, and his sentence is the sword. He doesn’t care who they are, what they’ve done, or why they’ve done it. 

None are left alive. __It’s what they deserve,__ Kyungsoo tells himself fiercely. __It’s more than what any of them deserve.__ He kills them all, and he does it without remorse, this act of violence no different than putting down an army of grave robbers haunting crypts. 

And yet the entire time he finds himself distracted, because there is always Jongin taking up so much of his mind, the man laying pale, bleeding, and constricted on the cold ground. Jongin, who still hasn’t woken up with all the death and destruction going on around him. 

Fortunately, his quietness has made the coven forget about him, or else they might think to use him as some kind of bargaining chip. But groups like these, they only know how to work in the shadows—get them out in the light and they scatter like a flock of crows in the field. 

It’s when Kyungsoo is taking care of the last one, a frail, this woman who coughs up a sickly green that Jongin chokes back to life. The woman is blathering on, praying to her god, but Kyungsoo hears the first choked inhales anyways. 

“Jongin!” he nearly lets go of the woman, but that would give her the chance to get away. And he can’t have that. 

“Soo?” Jongin says, so small and weak. 

“It’s going to be ok darling.” Kyungsoo finishes the job efficiently, and then he’s rushing to Jongin’s side. As soon as the last witch of the coven is dead, Jongin heaves in a deep breath for the first time. Kyungsoo cuts him free of the ropes and his hands glide quickly over Jongin’s body, searching for anything horrible, and wounds that won’t heal. Jongin is so __pale,__ but his grip on Kyungsoo’s arm is firm. 

As the seconds go by, Jongin gets stronger and stronger. Kyungsoo still pulls him into his lap, but he feels the cadence of his breath and heart settle into something resembling normal. 

“Witches,” Jongin tells him, head hidden in his neck. “They want you—us.” 

Kyungsoo winds his arms around Jongin and hugs him tighter. “They didn’t seem prepared for me.” 

“Not __you,__ ” Jongin struggles to say, “Our... connection. A witcher and a sorcerer together are something powerful.” 

“I bet they regretted it in the end,” Kyungsoo says into Jongin’s hair. After this, Kyungsoo is never letting Jongin go again. 

“Everything was a trap. Every— Sehun,” Jongin gasps. He pushes onto his feet, Kyungsoo going up along with him and steadying him with his hold. __“Sehun, fucking bitch.”__

Kyungsoo doesn’t know how he manages it, but Jongin tears open a portal, shoving them both through. He registers the interior of the castle in Aedirn before Jongin is tugging Kyungsoo along. 

__“Sehun!”__ Jongin roars. He flings open a door with his magic, which unfortunately turns out to be the King’s bedchambers. 

Well, this gets Sehun back for all the times he interrupted __them.__

The King stands bare chested at the foot of his bed, Sehun settled between his knees on the verge of being very preoccupied with something. He whips his head around when the door smacks into the wall from the force of Jongin’s magic, but even in his weakened state, Jongin is far more prepared. Sehun is pinned against the floor in a magical hold before he ever gets the chance to cast something of his own. 

“Sehun! How dare—” King Chanyeol yells.

“Shut up.” Kyungsoo holds the tip of his sword dangerously close to the frail skin of the King’s neck. It would take so little force to push it through. 

With a flick of his wrist, Jongin closes the door and locks it again. He kneels over Sehun and grasps at the collar of his shirt. 

“How dare you. How __dare__ you set me up.” 

“Nini—” Sehun winces. “I can—”

“You think I want an explanation? Years of friendship and loyalty and you betray me for what? A good fuck? I should kill you. I think I __will__ kill you.” 

Jongin constricts his fist, and Sehun writhes with pain. Standing above the scene, Kyungsoo watches with a mix of admiration, but primarily, horror. Jongin has been through more than a lot, but this? His anger eats at him. The chaos controls him. 

“I can... explain,” Sehun gasps. 

“Don’t! Guards!” the King calls. 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “Let him.” 

They lock eyes for a moment, then longer. Nothing more needs to be said. Jongin lets up, and Sehun sags with relief. The two friends look at each other, but the gap between them is immeasurable. 

“It was a stupid mistake, you have to believe me,” Sehun begs. “I—if I went to Baekhyun, he’d laugh me out of Aretuza. The coven got to Chanyeol and I had to do what they wanted, I had to. Don’t you understand?” 

Kyungsoo can see the conflict in Jongin’s eyes—because he does understand. If it had been Kyungsoo in the King’s place, Jongin would have toppled Nilfgaard for him. 

“I sent Kyungsoo after you,” Sehun says, calmer now. 

“You drove me away.”

“The dream, don’t you remember. I linked you two. It’s my speciality.” 

Jognin shoves Sehun away from him roughly, his head bouncing painfully off the floor, before clambering back to his feet. He looks at both Sehun and King Chanyeol with absolute disgust. “If you ever call on me again,” he spits. “I’ll turn you both to roaches. That I swear.” 

  


They collapse together in a field of goldenrod. The grass stretches high, and when they look up, all they can see is the blue sky stretching impossibly huge in every direction. Jongin’s chest heaves, and a thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead. 

“Rest,” Kyungsoo places a firm hand over his chest. “I’ve got you.” 

Silence comes in waves, gently washing over them with the breeze. 

“Let’s go away, Kyungsoo,” Jongin speaks up. Emotion is rich in his voice, his lovely, honey voice. “Let’s go to the coast, and build a cabin by the sea, all by hand. We’ll wake up in the morning to the salty sea breeze and catch our own fish for dinner. I’ll teach you how to garden. It’s easy, Kyungsoo, it really is.

“Let’s be done with all this, Soo . Let’s go away to our cabin by the sea and let people sing songs about us, until new witchers and witches come along. I want to fall out of the history books. I just want to be with you and grow old. Nothing else. I swear, I’d give anything, if just to grow old with you.” 

They turn onto their sides to face each other, two curving half-moons. Kyungsoo traces the lines of Jongin’s lips with his fingers. They chapped and cracked from his ordeal, but nothing that can’t be fixed by time. 

Kyungsoo is, and always will be, a witcher. Some things never change. Duty, honor, love—it’s all competing forces, like the balance of chaos and magic that rules the Sphere. 

Nothing changes if you don’t question it. 

“Do you want to hear a story?” Kyungsoo breathes. Jongin kisses the tips of his finger. 

“Okay, tell me.” 

“It’s a fairy tale. A good one, though, not like those bullshit ones with princesses and castles.” 

“Does it have a happy ending?” Jongin smiles. He crosses his ankles with Kyungsoo’s. Like always, his hair stands out among the soft green of the grass, the golden yellow of the flowers. Dried blood sticks to his chin. He looks less than perfect, but more than beautiful. 

“Maybe. We’ll have to see.” Kyungsoo kisses him once before continuing. “Once upon a time, there was a mysterious magician. He was unforgettable.” 

  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! After reveals, I will post my twitter/cc here.


End file.
